We Dreamed a Dream
by CminorAdagio
Summary: Blaine made a promise to Kurt all those years ago to always protect him; they made plans together, and they made dreams. But then everything changed. Six years later, as Carole Hudson drives to work, she makes a heartbreaking, yet fateful discovery which will change not only her life, but her family's lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

_Blaine's throat felt raw from the sheer desperation of his high-pitched screaming, as he fought with all his might, yet to no avail, against his father's bruising grasp. "KURT!" he almost begged, as his tormentor dragged him roughly down the garden path by his now untidy gelled hair. His head felt as if it was going to explode by the combination of his own screamed pleas, his father's harsh yelling, Kurt's crying, which was still audible even from inside the house, and the fact that the tender stiches so carefully sewn into his wounded head earlier that morning were splitting open. Yet he did not stop crying out; this time, he would not put on the brave façade and pretend all was right with the world, and he would not keep quiet like his father constantly ordered him to do. Blaine was being hurled along the garden path, away from his best friend – the one person he loved more than anything else in the entire world, and according to his father, they were never, ever returning. The young boy did not think he could take much more, which is why he did not give a damn that his cries were probably waking up the entire street and neighbourhood. In fact, he wanted them to wake up. Blaine wanted them to open their eyes and see Mr Jonathon Anderson for the crooked, deceitful, violent bully he had always been, but never shown outside their miserable excuse for a home. Only Kurt fully knew of what he had been through, because Blaine had never been able to deny anything to him, and he always worried that Burt suspected. If the loyal, kind car store owner had not known previously, then he certainly did now, which is why it had hurt so much to see him simply standing there, with a pained expression, restraining Kurt as the boy attempted to run after his best friend; he did not look happy about the course of events, but similarly, he did nothing. To Blaine's horror, Burt had simply allowed his father to seize him by the hair; spit horrific words like 'fag' into his ear, and drag him through the door. _

_Now, not only Blaine's head was hurting, but his whole body. His chest ached as he tried to keep at least one eye on the Hummels' front door, hoping they would come after him; praying that they would stop the pain. But nothing happened. He cried out as his back was hit roughly against the wood of the gate as his father continued to haul him away. With no sign of escape, for the first time in his life, Blaine Anderson was openly afraid. His father had always been bad tempered and had no qualms with using violence, favouring in particular the belt; the feel of which, Blaine knew especially well. However, he was sure that he had never seen his father his angry before, and Blaine was terrified that he was going to die. Worse still, as more distance was placed between him and Kurt, he feared for all the promises he had made Kurt. He promised to forever take care of him; stand up for him against the countless bullies who made it their mission in life to make Kurt's life a living hell. Blaine had stayed strong for years since his mother's death, despite his father's abuse, for Kurt. And for the one day that he finally lets all his barriers down and admits to Burt what has really been going on underneath the Anderson roof, his life falls crumbling around him. Burt had said he was not going to call child protective services. Burt had lied – which was why his father was now furious with him for telling, and it was the reason for their sudden fleeing to goodness knows where. _

_However, as Blaine's screaming subsided for half a second so that he could breathe and rest his voice, he realised that they were not setting off immediately. Despite the boxes and cases of luggage clearly piled high in the car, his father was dragging him back next door, into their house. _

"_Kurt!" Blaine wailed out, but even at ten-years-old, he knew when a task was fruitless. No one was coming. No one ever came. _

"_SHUT UP!" His father roared, practically throwing him through their front door so that Blaine landed painfully on the wooden floor; he was now beginning to feel a little dizzy. "Shut the fuck up!"_

_Blaine had never gone against his father's wishes. He had always taken the beatings and the verbal abuse quietly and humbly, but this time he would answer back, regardless of how afraid he was. Still dizzy and disorientated, Blaine slowly pulled himself up off the floor into a hunched standing position. "No! Not anymore! I want Kurt!" _

_Enraged, Jonathon Anderson slammed the door shut, as if emphasising that there was no way of escape and rounded on his son, gripping his hair and chin roughly. "Well, you're not going to see him again! We're leaving! We're leaving this godforsaken town, and that faggy boy behind!" _

"_Don't call him that!" Blaine screamed, his temper rising as it had never done before. _

"_WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME!" his father bellowed, spitting in the boy's face so that Blaine shrank back, even in his rage. "DON'T YOU DARE ANSWER ME BACK, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"_

"_I love him!" Blaine cried, tears practically blinding him now, as was his headache. _

_This seemed to be the final straw because the older man whacked him with brutal force in the face so that Blaine fell back down to the floor, his head pounding. He felt a tearing and he just knew that his stiches had finally torn. This did not seem to quench his father's anger though, because Blaine looked up and even through his now foggy line of vision, he could see clearly that the older Anderson was removing his belt from his waistband. The boy tried to let out a 'please' but it hurt too much to speak now, plus the look of pure rage on his father's face was enough to root him in terror to his fallen spot. The man lunged towards him with the belt and Blaine curled inwardly on himself, futilely trying to cover his face, and squeezing his eyes tight shut. _

"_YOU LITTLE FAG!" he bellowed. "HE'S NOT NATURAL! YOU'RE NOT NATURAL! YOU WILL NOT SAY THAT AGAIN! YOU WILL NOT!" And with each 'you will not' that followed, Jonathon Anderson emphasised his point with a painful blow. Blaine continued to squeeze his eyes shut and placed his hands tight over his ears, trying to block out all sound of harm. He thought of how peaceful things had seemed with Kurt, only an hour ago, sitting snuggled together on the other boy's sofa, toasty warm in front of the fireplace. He thought about all those times at school where they had hidden away from the other children behind the greenhouse at the edge of the school yard, just sitting and talking together. Those were his favourite moments. He had been able to forget everything at home when he remembered these little things. Kurt made everything go away. He was kind, gentle, beautiful, and he was so funny. Even as the blows continued to rain down on him, Blaine smiled inwardly as he remembered the time Kurt had played the vicar, and he the best man at the marriage ceremony of two Ken dolls. Blaine knew what it was to be unhappy, but with Kurt was around, he could never be miserable. Even when his father returned home from the pub drunk and called him a waste of space, Blaine just nodded and said nothing, just thinking of Kurt's smiling face telling him it was okay. _

_It was only as the blows finally ended, and Blaine was only half conscious that he realised nothing was ever going to be okay again, because he was never going to see Kurt again. His eyes were closed and his head hurt too much to open them but he could feel his father toss him none too gently into his arms and he recognised cool air, as if he was being carried outside. In that moment, he promised himself that whatever happened, he would come back. He would find his way back to Kurt. He would be there to protect him from the bullies, just as he had previously promised. Blaine forced himself to open his eyes as he heard the clicking of what sounded like the car boot. To his horror, he found himself being lowered into the car boot; Blaine tried to protest and hold onto his father's shirt but he did not get a chance. Before he knew it, the boot was slammed shut; he was cramped into a tiny ball, and engulfed in darkness. _

Blaine's eyes flew open and he let out a tiny whimper in reaction to what he had just experienced. Before he took in his surroundings, he tried to focus on the fact that it was just a dream. Or rather it was a memory. He did not dream anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, which was very rarely these days because of the constant fear of being attacked if he did so, a memory returned. Sometimes they were good, but mostly they were awful, nightmarish memories that actually made him detest the human need for sleep. For normal people, sleep was a release from the turmoil of conscious life. But he was not normal, as his father had so often spat at him. He would never be normal until he 'admitted that homosexuality is disgusting'. Blaine had no intention of ever admitting such a thing, but that did not stop him from hating himself. He had never been good enough for his father, or for the people at school, or to his teachers, or the neighbours – all of which stared at him in disgust. Blaine had not seen Cooper since he had come out either. In fact, he had not seen Cooper since before he and his father had fled to San Francisco on that fateful morning, to avoid child protective services. Blaine had often wondered in his most depressive moments why his father had not just left him with the Hummel's and fled himself. The police had never caught up with them, so it was safe to assume that they would never have caught up with his father if he had not been with him. But Blaine knew now that it was not just child protective services which had forced them to flee Ohio. His father's law practice had gone bankrupt and yet he had continued to take customers money for himself, without having any intention of putting it to its proper use, or returning it in some cases. The authorities had realised what he was doing and he had been so close to getting caught. Child protective services were just the final straw. Yet, it was common knowledge even in their new home that his father was a crook, and he was back to his old tricks, scheming for money. Yet he was careful this time. If he was accused, the money mysteriously disappeared from his bank account. This did not help Blaine make friends either. Even if he had not been mercilessly bullied for being gay, he was condemned as 'that Anderson crook's son'.

Once upon a time, Blaine had been able to plaster a smile on his face and say everything was okay. He could build walls around himself and separate himself into two different personalities. There was Blaine Anderson, the bright, confident, polite young man who was out and proud and did not give a damn what anyone else thought, and there was Blaine Anderson, the little boy who was ruthlessly verbally and physically abused by his father. Except now, the two had merged. There was no confident façade anymore. He simply kept his head down, mumbled words when he had to, and accepted the beatings without question. He had decided that life was easier that way. Blaine did not even have his last name anymore, because his father had changed it to avoid them being tracked down. Instead, he was Blaine Warbler. Warbler had been the first name that occurred to his father when asked his last name in the new city, because a tour bus for some preparatory school show choir had been passing in the street entitled 'The Dalton Academy Warbler's'. The name had stuck, but this was the least of Blaine's worries. In fact, aside from the fact that nobody really knew who he was, he actually quite liked the name. The word 'warbler' reminded him of a musical bird, and he had once loved to sing. He would have joined his high school show choir if he had not repeatedly been beaten and whittled down by his father to follow his every command. Blaine rather thought he might have found at least one friend had he joined the show choir because they were always the underdogs at school. Yet it was not to be. Instead, when his father raged in his often drunken state, beat him, and shoved him in the cold, dark basement, locking the door behind him, Blaine often curled up on the floor and thought of Kurt, singing both new songs and the ones they used to sing when playing in Kurt's back garden.

His father's temper had grown worse since Blaine came out. The beatings had been more constant and painful than ever, and often, Blaine had been unable to even get out of bed to go to school, which of course, displeased his father even more. The older Anderson had a group of equally crooked friends who rallied around him and attended his house every so often for a 'booze day'. This was quite literally what the day consisted of – drinking beer, and often, chemicals much stronger. It angered his father when Blaine was in the house for these, and he bitterly led his other 'friends' in throwing empty beer bottles at his son's closed door. Or when Blaine was visible, they threw empty bottles at Blaine. Thankfully, Blaine had learnt to patch his injuries up expertly from a very young age, and so nothing much worse than being knocked unconscious ever happened. However, a year previously, he had been unable to heal himself after being violently beaten at a school dance by four bullies who made his life a living hell. Even though he had not even attended with a date, they had harmed him just because he was there, and there were no teachers around. Much to his father's displeasure, Blaine had spent two weeks in the hospital following the incident. Not once had Mr Anderson visited and when Blaine eventually made his own way home, he was greeted by his father and his friends, who were overjoyed to have their favourite punching bag back. The teachers, the doctors and the nurses had been sympathetic about the incident, but it was clear that nobody really cared. Blaine had learnt from them the hard way that if you were gay, then your life was probably just going to be miserable.

Yet despite being bullied himself, Blaine never forgot his promise to Kurt to always protect him from his bullies; to make his way back to them so that they could experience their dreams together as they had always planned. There was always the nagging worry that Kurt would not want to know him anymore. After all, it had been six years since either of them saw each other, and for all he knew, Kurt may not remember him even if he did return. What if he condemned him like everyone else did? It was all Blaine could do to force himself not to think like that. Because in his heart of hearts, he knew that Kurt was not like that. Kurt was different. And even though Burt had helped cause his father's violent temper that morning they fled by calling child protective services, even though he said he would not, the man had been more like a father to him in those early years than his own father had been in a lifetime. Blaine would have done anything in the world to see those he loved again, especially Kurt, and more than once he had tried to plan to run away.

In the end, he had not even had time to plan. Running for his life from that house one night, tears streaming down his face, shaking uncontrollably, his sweater torn – the journey had not been planned. He had only the clothes on his back, and initially a little money. That had all been spent long ago. In his terror, Blaine had no idea where he was going; he just had to put as much distance between him and his father as possible, whilst simultaneously blocking out images of that night. It was only two weeks after he ran, that he realised his instinct had taken over. Subconsciously, he had been getting closer and closer to Ohio. It was a long journey and Blaine could not remember the last time he had eaten. Food cost money, and the only other option was to beg. He had learnt that people just ignored beggars, which he actually vastly preferred to being yelled at, demeaned and hit each day. The small amount of change he did receive was spent on water or if he was very lucky, some hot tea, because his body could survive a little while without food – but not drink. When he had been fortunate enough, he had stayed in homeless shelters, or stowed away on freight trains. However, once he had been caught on a freight train and had been carted off to the station manager, who promptly demanded the boy to give his parents' number. Terrified of going back, and alarmed when the man rested a hand on his arm, Blaine had lashed out subconsciously, knocking the man over. He had no time to apologise for his actions however when two station guards came careering along and Blaine's first instinct had been to run. Fortunately, he was small and extremely skinny so he had no problem in hiding in a small bush near the station until the men had given up the chase. Blaine had lost everything – his family, his home, his dreams of performing, Kurt… He had no intention of losing his freedom, and indeed, his life, by returning to his father.

Blaine had been careful from that moment on; never staying on a train too long if he was stowing away, and when walking, he always avoiding policemen in the street. He would be accounted as a runaway and he was underage, which meant that if he was found, he would be sent back. He never wanted to go back. He had walked most of the journey, without much food and he was exhausted, hungry and he did not feel at all well. But in his view, that was preferable to going back.

Two nights ago, he had made it. He had entered Ohio and tonight, he was in Lima. After allowing his brain to process all these headache-inducing thoughts, and awakening fully, Blaine gave himself some time to take in his surroundings. In some ways, the shops were different from what he remembered, but in others, features were still the same. He could see McKinley High in the distance from the park bench on which he was sleeping; the park in which he and Kurt had used to play in and walk through on the way home from school. He could also see the building where his father used to keep his law practice, and he shuddered inwardly. He did not want to remember his father anymore. He had been on the run for months and he wondered when the painful memories would go away. The building, like most buildings on the outskirts of Lima, was now a takeaway place, except one building on the corner which appeared to be a restaurant or café of some kind called 'The Lima Bean'. Light was just beginning to dawn and he guessed that it was the early hours of the morning. With the park directly next to a road, he knew that traffic would come along soon, so he supposed he had better get a move on. Slowly and tiredly, he got to his feet, swaying slightly. He felt even worse today and despite the fact that the early October weather was chilly, he felt very warm. Groaning because he knew a fever was the last thing he needed, he forced himself to move slowly through the park, towards the road.

Unlike the buzzing, busy city streets he had become accustomed to in San Francisco and on his journey, Lima was quiet – almost unbearably quiet. So much so, as he walked, he kept turning round suspiciously because he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. He tried to convince himself that he was paranoid due to the upcoming fever, but even so, when he heard several twigs snap behind him as he approached the exit of the park, he could not help but turn around and look. Clearing his voice, he asked a little hoarsely because he so rarely used his voice these days:

"H…Hello?"

Once again, there was complete silence and no one said anything in reply to his nervous question. Not that he had expected anyone to. Swallowing, and telling himself not to be afraid, he turned back around again. He convinced himself to man up, just as his father constantly yelled at him to do. He had lived in, travelled through and survived dangerous cities. There was nothing in small-town Lima that could hurt him. Was there? Again, he shook himself. It was probably just a bird, or even a badger. In a park like this in the very early hours of the morning, badgers would surely be returning to their burrows to sleep. Turning around, he walked a little further towards the exit. He heard another sharp snap and he whirled around.

This time, he felt a hand slap across his mouth to stop him from screaming out as he came face to face with a tall hooded figure. He could not see the person's face as they were wearing a striped, woollen balaclava, and his heart seized up. He tried to struggle, but the person was so much bigger and stronger than he was. Weak from hunger and exhaustion, Blaine put up a poor fight as terror flooded through him, and he was forced onto the ground.

* * *

Carole hummed absently to herself as she picked up her keys from the table by the door and exited the house, locking the front door carefully behind her. She was running a little late today because she had spent too much time cleaning up after breakfast. She loved her family dearly but living with three males had its downside sometimes. She and her son, Finn had moved in with her partner, Burt, and his son, Kurt, several months ago, and she supposed they were all adjusting.

Burt had the kindest heart she had ever known in a man; he was your typical 'manly man' who was obsessed with football and any other kinds of sports, owned a car repair store, worked as a mechanic, and wore threadbare flannel shirts, baseball caps and oily overalls, yet he was gentle, moral and understanding. He had passed these moral traits over to his son Kurt, who was without a doubt, Burt's son, yet in so many ways they were opposites. Kurt was as gay as they come, and he was proud of it. He wore the latest fashion designs and accessories bought apparently on bargain websites, although, even for Carole, who was a woman and accepted styles of clothes as a necessary thing, she thought some of Kurt's fashion ideas were quite eccentric. However, as he constantly told her 'fashion has no gender', and he would hear no more about it. Unlike Burt, he hated to get his hands dirty with oil from tinkering with cars, and he could maintain no concentration with sports at all, however his interests lay in other areas, namely performance and fashion. According to Burt, performance had been something Kurt had been destined to do since he was little, when he would put on one-man shows in extravagant outfits. Kurt had also apparently been a little nervous in coming out to Burt, but of course, the kind-hearted man simply loved his son for who he was, and although the man sometimes really did not know how to verbally express this, it was obvious in the way he looked at Kurt, and was fiercely protective of the boy. Kurt, in turn, was fiercely protective of his father and she had heard from Burt that the boy had once deliberately flunked the chance for a much-wanted solo to protect his dad from hateful phone calls concerning his son's sexuality. They both had wonderful hearts and she felt very lucky to have them.

Finn was still slightly awkward around the two of them and seemed very reluctant to share her with the other two males, but Carole guessed that he just needed a little time to get used to the changes. It had been him and her living on their own for many years after his father died, and to suddenly move into a house with two other males probably irritated him slightly from time to time. Initially she had been aware of the slight wariness he had of Kurt, as if he had been expecting the boy to throw himself and him at any moment, but he now seemed a little more comfortably around him. It helped that they were both in their school's glee club together, which for two very different people, at least gave them one similar hobby.

But now, not only living with Finn but also Burt (Kurt was admittedly very tidy), meant that there was double the mess around the house, and she could did not really like leaving dirty dishes around after breakfast. So she had taken the time to wash up before she went to work, because she was the last in the house. Burt had wanted to finish off some work for a customer who was coming to collect his car tomorrow and Finn had driven both he and Kurt to school as they sometimes took turns doing so. Her shift as a nurse at Lima hospital was not until a little later so she had been able to relax and eat her breakfast unhurriedly.

Carole unlocked her car door, settled inside the driver's seat and set the car in motion. Deciding which way would be quickest at this late time of seven o'clock; she decided to take the less popular route, taking her past the park and The Lima Bean. It was a little further that way but she knew it would be quicker than the main road where a small queue of traffic would possibly be forming, of businessmen who were based in Lima, trying to make it through to Westerville where the majority of the posh businesses worked. It was handy to have the other route to Lima Hospital, and the traffic rarely beat her to it because the little back roads next to the park were relatively unused except at night when crowds were drawn in to The Lima Bean and the various takeaway joints that littered the streets these days.

Her mind was on other matters as she began to pass the park, such as what she was going to cook for tea tonight because it was her turn. Now that they were a family, and with her scheduled to marry Burt within a few months, they had all decided that to get them used to the future situation, they would take it in turn to work as a family unit, and that included chores such as cooking, cleaning, and washing. Carole also made a mental note to make sure Finn completed his fair share of the washing today, because it was his turn, and last week, Kurt had done this for him because her son had conveniently been on a dinner date with his girlfriend, Rachel. Carole supposed Rachel was a pleasant enough girl, though perhaps a little self-centred at times, but she could also talk for America, which meant that Finn returned from the date too late and too tired to do the washing. Thankfully, Kurt had sensed this was going to happen, because he also knew Rachel Berry well, and had offered to do the washing himself instead. When she had said he should not be doing her lazy son's chores, Kurt just insisted that he liked washing and would also prefer to do it himself rather than having a tired Finn flooding their kitchen. With all these thoughts, Carole barely registered something lying in a heap just inside the exit of the park. Still, the sight drew her attention and as quickly as she looked out of the window, she slammed her foot onto the brakes.

Heart beating wildly, she turned her head again to look out of her side window, to ensure that she was not merely seeing things. Sure enough, her eyes landed on the same crumpled mess just inside the park's gates. To anyone not looking out of the window, they would have assumed it was a pile of mud and leaves (for it was dirty enough), or simply not noticed it all. Yet as Carole trained her eyes hard on the heap, she realised it was a human being… on the floor… unmoving.

"Oh no." she whispered, her heart in her mouth. As a nurse, she had seen plenty of injured and even dead people, and she prayed she was not about to find the latter. From the distance, the person seemed to be wearing dirty, worn clothes, and she briefly considered they might simply be homeless and passed out on the floor after too much alcohol and too little food. She had encountered many alcoholic bums in the past. These bums also tended to become quite violent if you treated them in a way they did not like, or disturb them from sleep, but still, Carole knew she had to check that the person was alright. Carefully, she pulled onto the curb and got out of the car, hurrying across the street.

As she grew nearer, she could quite clearly see from the body shape that the person was a male, and she could feel a dry retch in her throat as she realised that it was a boy, perhaps a little younger than Finn and Kurt. As Carole finally reached the poor boy's side, she simply knew what had happened; her heart broke and she felt like she wanted to sick up her breakfast all at once. The boy's jeans and boxers, which were now brownish-red and caked in sticky mud and blood, were hanging around his ankles, whilst the damage to his lower body was quite plain to see, as blood continued to trickle. Carole bit back a sob as she assessed the extent of the boy's injuries; his sweatshirt was also filthy, soaking wet and clung to him, only emphasising his obvious malnourishment, whilst his mass of dark, curly hair was matted, tangled and mingled with sweat. As she checked his pulse, she noticed that his arm was splayed at a clearly odd angle and made a note that it was probably broken. Carole heaved a sigh of relief from a breath she had not realised she was holding when she felt a weak but definite pulse.

Springing into action she quickly paged for an ambulance from the nearby hospital before setting about making the boy comfortably. Even though he was currently unconscious – passed out from what Carole could work out because there was no sign of a specific head wound, she could see from the child's sleeping face that he was, or had been a lot of pain, and she tried not to cry. It made it even worse when she thought about what she would do if either Finn or Kurt had been harmed like this. Needing to do something other than sit there whilst the boy was suffering, Carole removed her coat and arranged it so that his small form was almost entirely covered by it. The coat would be ruined but that did not matter. For the first time, the boy stirred and let out a small whimper of pain, and Carole shushed him, brushing a soothing hand gently across his forehead. She gasped as she realised how feverish he was; the boy's temperature was sky high and it cannot have helped with him lying outside in the cold air, half-naked and doused in his own blood.

"Don't worry sweetie," she whispered to him softly, even though she knew the boy could not hear her. "Help's coming really soon. You'll be alright. It won't hurt for much longer."

As she predicted, the ambulance came with record speed less than ten minutes later, and Carole was extremely thankful for the perks of being employed by the hospital. As the ambulance parked directly next to the park, two paramedics approached them and Carole informed them of the boy's injuries. One of them carefully removed the warmth of Carole's coat and replaced it with a foil wrap, before removing the boy's ruined jeans and searching for any form of identification. They could find none. Between the two of them, they gently lifted him onto a stretcher and placed him in the ambulance, Carole stepping in behind them, informing them that she was a nurse. She decided to leave her car where it was and have Finn come to pick it up for her later, because although help was now available for the boy, she felt a strong sense of responsibility and care towards him. On top of the blatant attack and rape, he child looked exhausted and malnourished and Carol could not help but think he came from a happy home, if he had a home at all. The ambulance was set into motion and it sped them towards the hospital.

Halfway through the journey, the boy's eyes started the flicker slightly, displaying the signs of coming round, and he whimpered again in pain. The paramedic who was riding in the ambulance made to lean forwards, looking up from the clipboard on which he had been furiously scribbling. However, Carole reached out a hand to hold him back. She had never actually had a male sexual assault patient because it was not her department area, but she had seen and heard of cases from other nurses about women. She was worried that the boy might start to panic if he saw the male paramedic and this seemed to dawn on him too because he nodded and gestured for her to take charge. Again, the boy whined softly, his eyes opening slightly before he slammed them shut again, presumably to block out the light. Opening her mouth to diagnose this, she saw that the young paramedic had already written down 'possibly hypothermic', and she nodded, resuming her attention with the boy. Carole reached out a hand and took the boy's hand on his unbroken arm, saying very softly to him so she would not cause him alarm:

"Sweetie, do you think you can open your eyes for me?"

The boy groaned in response, his eyes still tight shut so she repeated the question. Not wanting to pressure him, she gave him time to work out how to obey these questions in his disorientated state. Eventually, he responded and slowly opened his eyes. They were slightly unfocused for a moment, and Carole waited patiently, taking their contact one step at a time. Gradually he focused on her and let out another small whimper.

"Very good sweetie," she encouraged him warmly, squeezing his hand gently and she felt relief when he at least did not pull away out of her grip. "You're doing very well."

The boy opened his mouth, producing a small gargling sound as if trying to figure out how to form words, before he croaked heartbreakingly, "H…hurts."

"I know," Carole agreed softly. "You're going to be alright. We're going to help you."

The boy suddenly looked a little more alert and his eyes widened slightly, "W…Where… where am I?"

"We're on the way to the hospital sweetie," she replied gently. "You've been hurt, and we're going to help y-"

"N…no." the teenager whispered, his voice hoarse and broken, whilst his eyes looked absolutely terrified. "N…no hospitals… no… don't send me back," he pleaded feverishly, trying to sit up on the gurney but Carole shushed him softly, gently pushing him back down into a resting position. "I… I can't go back… please…"

Carole's heart broke at the sight of this young boy, so full of terror and anguish but she kept her voice firm and unwavering. "We're not going to send you back anywhere alright? We're just going to make it so that you don't hurt anymore."

Looking at this boy, she knew this was a lie. He would probably need a lot more than just some antibiotics to stop him from hurting. The physical pain would be easy, but the emotional…

"Please…" he whimpered, his eyes beginning to close again slightly, so Carole kept talking to get him to stay awake.

"My name is Carole," she said, producing what she hoped was a comforting smile, squeezing his hand again. "What's yours?"

The boy looked at her for a few instants, as if trying to work out if she was playing some kind of cruel trick on him, but it had the desired effect of keeping him from passing out again. "B…Blaine." He whispered softly.

"Blaine." Carole repeated, still smiling, although this was the last thing in the world she wanted to do right now. "That's a lovely name. It's very unusual – I've never met a Blaine before."

Blaine did not respond; he shifted uncomfortably and let out another whimper of pain, so Carole ran her hand gently over his forehead again, whispering words of comfort. After a few seconds, he quietened but she kept smiling at him, trying to be a comforting presence in what she knew was a horrific situation.

"Do you have a last name Blaine?" she asked gently, but apparently this was the wrong question to ask because several tears began to roll down his dirty cheeks from bright amber eyes, and he became slightly distressed, shaking his head from side to side in desperation.

"No? Okay… that's okay…" Carole hushed him quietly. "That's fine. You're just Blaine. Blaine the nice name." she said, her eyes sparkling slightly as she smiled, and this time, she felt as if the smile was genuine when this attempt at rhyming comforted the boy somewhat. "How old are you, Blaine?"

It took another few seconds for Blaine to gather his voice to answer with a soft, "Fifteen."

Again, Carole felt her heart break. This boy was so young and he had experienced something horrific; something which probably would not go away for a long time, if ever. And worse still, he seemed too traumatised to even give his last name, although she knew he must have had one at some point. Judging from his dirty, and admittedly smelly complexion, she realised that he probably had not seen the inside of a home for a long time, and he was so skinny that she was almost certain he had not eaten in days. Thus, she understood why he was an easy target to any lurking rapist; he would not have had the strength to run in his state, let alone fight someone off. Catching the bastard that did this was fairly low on her priority levels right now, because Blaine seemed so distressed, but ultimately, she knew the police would have to be called. Her thoughts turned to finding any source of family the boy might have, who could come and help him through this time of need.

"And do you have any family we can contact Blaine?" she asked kindly. "Anyone at all? Your mom?"

To her horror, Blaine became even more distressed at this and he began to move to sit up restlessly again, tears falling, his body shaking as he muttered, still high with the fever, "N…no… no…"

"Your dad then?" Carole pressed gently, catching hold of him and lowering him back down carefully again. His terrified cries of distress only increased as she uttered the word 'dad', and it was all she could do to keep him still. The male paramedic clearly felt he had to intervene because he suddenly appeared next to her, trying to keep the boy still. As soon as Blaine's eyes fell on the man he let out a scream of fear and tried to back away. His broken arm however prevented him from hoisting himself up properly and he fell back with a sob of pain. The paramedic seemed to take the hint and he backed away out of Blaine's field of vision, whilst Carole gently hushed the boy again.

"Blaine sweetie, calm down okay?" she encouraged softly. "You're doing well… you're doing so well… just try not to move around so much okay otherwise you're going to hurt your poor arm even more."

Blaine's eyes had closed again, and his head was thrashing around, as if trying to avoid painful memories. Carole had a feeling that it was not just the attack he was reliving, "Please…. Please make it stop… no more… please no more…" he kept crying over and over again like a mantra.

Even Carole could feel her calm, firm tone slipping as she said quietly, "Blaine, no one here is going to hurt you okay? You're safe. You're on the way to the hospital where good people are going to look after you alright?"

Blaine had stopped shouting the mantra now as it was gradually reducing in sound to a quiet plea, and Carole gently tried again, from a slightly different angle, "Is there no one you want here with you? Do you have anyone you need to be with you?"

Blaine stilled at this, and although his eyes were still squeezed tight shut, she knew he had heard her, because he stopped his frantic mantra. After a few seconds he began to whisper desperately, though Carole put this down to the fever getting worse, "K… K….Kurt… I want Kurt… please… I want K… Kurt."

With how close she had gotten to this particular patient already, it shocked Carole as she uttered a familiar name, but she was sure he did not meant _her_ Kurt. Kurt had never once mentioned a family member, or a friend named Blaine, and Kurt always spoke his mind. If they knew each other, then she would surely know. The boy on the gurney in front of her was beginning to get worked up again, as he kept muttering 'Kurt' over and over again. Gently, she squeezed his hand to alert him back to her presence as she asked:

"Is Kurt a family member? A brother? An Uncle? A friend?"

"Please," Blaine pleaded in a heartbreakingly faint voice, and she could tell he was close to passing out again. "I just want Kurt…please…"

"I know sweetie," Carole whispered sympathetically, brushing a gentle hand through his tangled curls to soothe him. "I know… you want Kurt. Does Kurt have an address? Or a phone number?"

Blaine just continued to cry softly, lulling further into the depths of unconsciousness. Carole hated to press him, but it was so rare for a rape case in Lima not to have any family at all, that she continued despite her instincts. She wanted the boy to have someone there for him, although when she reached the hospital, she had every intention of getting out of her shift and staying with Blaine until someone came.

"Does this Kurt have a last name that could maybe help us find him?" she asked tenderly to Blaine's semiconscious form.

She swore her heart started pounding a hundred to the dozen when he whispered, "Hummel. I… I just want Kurt… and Burt Hummel," before passing out completely.

Carole swallowed. There were not many Hummel's in Ohio to start with, but there was only one Hummel family in Ohio, and their Christian names just so happened to be the ones Blaine had muttered. She held tight to Blaine's hand as they finally reached the hospital and he was lifted onto a gurney to take into the ER. Once she found out the extent of Blaine's injuries, she knew she had a phone call to make.

**So that was the first chapter of my first Glee/Klaine fanfic, and I really hope some of you liked it enough to review, or even if you didn't - tell me what you think. As you will probably tell as I get further along in the story, it's set as a parallel to the show. There will be some things which intertwine with the actual storyline of the show and AU moments like this, but I promise to try and make it good. Apologies if it's a bit angsty - it's certainly a little angstier than other stories I've written. But this story came to me a little while ago and it wouldn't go away. It's probably going to be quite long... Alternatively, if you don't like it, or if it offends anyone, I won't continue and will take it down. The planned next chapter sees Burt arrive, and Klaine get a reunion after six years!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A massive thank you to all of you who reviewed, favourite and followed this story. Like I said, it's a little different to things I've written before so I was a little nervous about it. This is actually only half of the originally intended Chapter 2 but I cut it off at the halfway point otherwise it would have gone on forever. So if you like this chapter, I'll post the next (half) up asap because it's very nearly finished. I hope it's up to expectations.**

Burt yawned a little sleepily as he made the final adjustments to the paperwork for tomorrow's customer's Ford Fiat. It had been an early start; he had been awake and out before Kurt even got up to complete his early morning moisturising routine, and that was saying something. With the garage across the road closing down, he had recently had a major influx in the number of customers requiring his services, and as such, this meant more work and less sleep. Both Kurt and Carole had expressed their anxieties over him working too hard of late, but as he said, he could not really turn down the work if it was offered. He and Kurt as a family before Carole and Finn moved in were not exactly poor, but then they were not rolling in money either. If he was paid to do the work and provide a better life for Kurt and Finn to get them out of 'this cow-town' as Kurt deemed it, then he certainly would. Unfortunately, that meant less time spent with Kurt and the two additions to his family, but Burt knew it would be worth it in the end. Besides, he would not complain today because it was Friday. That meant the Hummel tradition of a Friday Night Dinner, which was being cooked by Kurt tonight, at his insistence. Burt had only a few things in a week that he really enjoyed and his annual Friday Night Dinner with his family was one of them. Carole had told him that no matter what, it was Finn's task to do the washing that night, but afterwards, it would be designated family time. For one night a week, they would sit at the table as a family unit, eating a meal and making conversation even if the atmosphere was still awkward for some of them. Finn seemed to be taking a bit of time to settle in, but Kurt had assured Burt that he would fit in eventually, and that he did not mind the occasional cautious glances and offhandedly rude comments. Burt had to admit that Finn was a good kid – he just was not used to sharing his mother.

Biting back another yawn, Burt signed off on the final piece of paperwork, and consulted his watch. It was almost nine o'clock and he was quite hungry. Breakfast had seemed like such a long time ago, especially since he had barely been awake at the time to appreciate it. He had a feeling he had gulped down two pieces of slightly charred toast, but his brain was still slightly foggy. He was just considering moving over to the filing cabinet in which he kept emergency supplies of energy snacks for late nights, when his mobile let out a loud ring. Wondering who could possibly be ringing him at this time, he fumbled in the pockets of his oily overalls for the device, retrieved and answered it.

"Burt Hummel speaking." He stated, thinking that perhaps it would be an emergency call from some businessman or rather who needed quick work doing on their car before an afternoon meeting.

"_Burt, it's me."_

"Carole?" Burt asked, slightly albeit pleasantly surprised to hear the voice of his partner. Then he frowned, hearing a slight hitch in her voice, which he had only ever heard her use when she was upset or worried. "Don't get me wrong – it's nice to hear your voice, but you don't usually call me this early in the day. Is everything okay?"

He heard her voice catch, almost as if she was letting out an extra long, shuddering breath, "_Not really, no._"

She had Burt's full attention now, and his frown deepened. Although he had checked his watch only a matter of seconds ago, he repeated the action subconsciously as he remembered she should have been working her morning shift at this moment in time. "What's wrong?" he asked quickly, his heart pounding already at the thought that something was not right. "Are you okay? Are you on your shift?"

"_No_," Carole replied in a scarily subdued tone. "_No… my shift was cancelled… that is… I asked for my shift to be taken by someone else_."

"What?" Burt asked worriedly, his heart still hammering inside his chest. What had happened to make his partner like this? She sounded like she might burst into tears at any moment. "Why? What's happened? Are you sick?"

Carole cleared her throat at the other end of the line, "_No… no I'm not sick. I'm fine… well… maybe not fine, but I'm okay._"

"Honey, you're not making much sense." He said gently, but patiently. He had only ever heard her sound so upset once, and that was after she recounted the details of her husband's death to him. She was a wonderful, kind, sensitive woman, and he would wait patiently until she was ready to speak.

He heard Carole take a deep breath: "_As I was passing the park on my way to work, there was a person lying inside the park gates. He… he seemed to just be unconscious and at first I thought he might have just been… well… a bum sleeping off a hangover… but it wasn't_." As she recounted her story, Burt's frown deepened, sensing where this was going. He did not tolerate violence on any scale and of course would be perturbed by it, but he could not see how it had caused such a strange reaction in Carole. As a nurse, she saw all kinds of injuries at the hospital. "_It was a boy… a fifteen year old boy_," Carole continued, and it sounded as if she was fighting the urge to cry again. "_And he'd been… attacked very badly. So I paged an ambulance, left my car by the curb and went with him to the hospital. I've just been waiting to find out how he is and… god Burt,_" she breathed. "_He was just so… scared… and young…_"

"Do you need me to pick you up and take you home honey?" Burt asked gently, already looking around for the keys on his untidily-kept desk. "Is that why you're calling?"

He heard her quickly compose herself as she cleared her throat pointedly, "_No… no_," she said firmly, sounding a little stronger. "_That's not why I'm calling_." He listened to her take another deep breath before saying, "_He… the boy… I asked him if he had any family or friends he wanted me to call and he… he just got even more worked up… eventually he just crying over and over again that he wanted…_" She broke off suddenly.

Burt waited for a second before prompting her slowly, "He wanted what?"

He heard an audible sigh before he said quietly, "_Kurt. He kept saying that he wanted Kurt_."

Burt froze, utterly perplexed, and unable to say anything for a moment before he came to his senses, "Kurt_?_" He repeated, feeling slightly sick at the thought of his little boy in any way connected to this tragedy. "As in… _my_ Kurt?"

"_And you."_ Carole added, sounding subdued again, and almost like she had a rather bad head cold. "_He said your name too. Kurt… and Burt Hummel."_

Confusion was added to Burt's mixture of emotions, as he focused on trying to remember any fifteen-year-old boys he indirectly might or might not know. He was quite certain that there were not many, especially since they had asked for Kurt first. Perhaps he was one of Kurt's friends, but he was not convinced of this both because the boy was apparently younger than his son and Kurt seemed to interact with people in his year group. Also, he was quite sure that most of Kurt's friends were girls.

"Is he one of Kurt's friends?" he asked eventually, at a loss as to who this mysterious boy could be.

"_I… I don't know. He just said that his name was Blaine. I couldn't get a surname out of him – he was too scared, and in a lot of pain and…"_

Burt was aware of his partner continuing to speak but after she uttered the name 'Blaine', he stopped listening. In fact, he was pretty sure that his heart had stopped beating altogether. Initially the word just revolved and echoed around his head for a few seconds and then his mind reacted. Memories and images flashed through his head all at once of a small, smart, bright, seemingly confident little boy with long, dark curly hair sleekly gelled back, amber eyes and a sweet, winning smile. He recalled flashbacks of him and Kurt playing happily together in the back garden, marrying and divorcing their Barbie and Power Ranger dolls goodness knows how many times; he remembered a boy who caused his son to smile in a way that no one else ever had as he enthusiastically encouraged and applauded Kurt's one-man shows. Burt remembered how after a time these turned into two-man shows. His mind glazed over images of Kurt and Blaine snuggled together under a woollen blanket, on his living room sofa, fast asleep in front of the fire; pictures of Blaine sporting a nose bleed after he bravely defended Kurt from school bullies. And then the final picture: a less than confident little boy with terrified eyes and a gaping head wound, begging him not to make a phone call which in all likelihood changed his life for the worse. He would never forget the sight of little Blaine being dragged from the Hummel household by the hair, his father yelling abuse all the while… and all Burt could do was stand there and do nothing. The biggest regret of his life: not going after the boy who he always regarded as his other son.

He was suddenly aware the Carole had finished talking and was saying his name repeatedly and apparently concernedly. "_Burt?_"

It took a while for Burt to find his voice. When he did, he croaked mildly, "Blaine? You've… you've found Blaine?"

"_Burt, who is Blaine_?"

And then it hit him. He made the connection between that sweet little kid and the fifteen-year-old boy currently lying scared and battered in a hospital bed. Oh God. What had happened to him? He did not think he would ever forgive himself if anything had happened to that boy. Burt amended in his mind that something already had happened, but he knew that he would hate himself forever more if the poor boy suffered seriously from this. It took a lot of comprehending to realise that firstly, Blaine had been found in Lima after all these years, and secondly, that he was now injured in the hospital. Finally putting his brain into gear, Burt swiftly grabbed his keys and began running to the shutters to close up shop.

"I'm on my way to the hospital now." He told Carole firmly.

"_Burt, who is Blaine?"_ Carole repeated again, clearly becoming quickly confused and frustrated with his vagueness.

"I'm sorry honey," Burt apologised quickly as he locked up and jogged to his truck which was parked just outside. "I'll explain when I get to the hospital. I'll be with you in about fifteen minutes." He promised.

With that, he disconnected the call, returned his phone to his overalls, not caring that he was getting oil on the car seat, and switched the car engine on. Within minutes he was on the road to the hospital.

* * *

"So I know that neither of our families are really religious and all," Kurt enthused to his soon-to-be stepbrother, who rather looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but stuck in a car with the other boy. "But I was thinking that having the wedding take place in that small, moderate church up near Breadstix might be the answer. It wouldn't be too obvious but my dad and Carole would still get the traditional wedding they wanted, _and_ Carole could still be the blushing bride in white."

Finn frowned, but kept his eyes on the road because he knew that if he started having a go at the other boy now, they would never get to school on time and they had already spent a considerable amount of precious time spent in traffic. Finn already found it uncomfortable enough sitting in a car with Kurt, perhaps the most flamboyant gay out there, and whom he knew had had a crush on him some months ago. Whether or not this was still going on… well… he really hoped it was not because living with him, and going to school with him would just be plain awkward. He had been sure that he had nailed into Kurt's mind the fact that he was unequivocally, and always would be straight, yet sometimes he still had doubts. His mom and Burt's wedding, which he did not entirely approve of because they had only known each other for about a year, and he could not entirely face the thought of Carole being with anyone else other than his dad, even though he had died long ago; this seemed to only enhance Kurt's flamboyant qualities. The other boy seemed insanely enthusiastic about the wedding and had taken on the role of wedding planner since Burt had become so busy at the garage and Carole worked long hours at the hospital. Unfortunately, this made Kurt seem to follow him around all the time, chatting to him about venues, dress attire and the colour of Carole's wedding dress. It only added to Finn's chagrin that Kurt would approach him sometimes in front of his jock friends, who would sneer and laugh. He was used to being one of the popular kids – a jock and the quarterback on the football team which was as far up the social ladder as you could go. The whole issue of being forced to join the McKinley High glee club, which he actually enjoyed although he would never admit it to anyone other than his girlfriend Rachel, and the club director, Mr Will Schuester, took him down several rungs on that social ladder. He did not need Kurt dragging him down anymore.

It frustrated him even more that he never knew which side to pick. The trouble was that Kurt was never content to just accept the high school norm; he had to stir the pot. He would proudly wear insanely mismatching clothes and deem them 'fashion for all genders', even though Finn could have sworn he saw a girl wearing the same brand of sweater the day before, and he would practically dance around the corridors with the other girls in glee club. Naturally, because they were living in Ohio, and attending public High School, Kurt was bullied like hell for it and since Finn was a popular jock but also the male lead in glee club and Kurt's... family, he supposed, he could not really choose which side to take. Ultimately, he chose to remain passive. If he saw one of the football team 'slushy' Kurt, a popular form of punishment at McKinley for being at the bottom of that all important social ladder, he would look away and walk in the opposite direction before anyone saw him, because he would never bully Kurt himself. He could be flamboyant and flirty, but Finn had to admit that there were people worse than Kurt that he could have for a future stepbrother, and at times, he could be really quite sweet. Now however, after sitting in the car for an hour with the boy, Finn was just plain annoyed.

"Dude, that's my mom you're talking about being a 'blushing bride'." He said edgily.

"I know – but with girls and weddings, that's what they want to be. The dress is everything. They don't just throw on some tux like you or dad." Kurt shrugged, trying to eke a smile out of the other boy but apparently he was not going to get anywhere with that so he just sighed, "I can show you my portfolio of designs later. She's going to look simply spectacular."

Finn said nothing, but kept his eyes on the road, regretting offering Kurt a lift to school. Thankfully they were almost there now, because he did not think he could take much more of this wedding talk. A small silence stretched out and he was about to sigh in relief when Kurt asked a question which knocked him right off-kilter:

"What do you think about glee club providing the music?" the other boy asked brightly.

"Wait… what?" Finn spluttered in response.

"Yeah," Kurt said, clasping his hands in his lap as he always did when he was pondering and developing an idea in his head. "It could be a glee wedding."

"I… I don't know dude," Finn muttered, pleased as they finally pulled into the McKinley parking lot. "Whatever." He quickly parked in the first space he found, switched the ignition off and climbed out of the car. He waited for Kurt to do the same, closing the door behind him, before he locked it and began walking towards the entrance. This was where they usually parted into their different factions – he either with Rachel, or the football team, and Kurt either by himself, or with Mercedes and Tina, probably his only two friends. As they split off to enter two different parts of the school, Kurt called to him:

"Thanks again for the lift! See you at glee after school."

Finn just grunted a 'Yeah man' before leaving the other boy to his own devices.

Kurt stood still for a moment, his hand clutched around his leather shoulder bag, watching his soon-to-be stepbrother disappear into the crowd. Now that he was left alone, he removed the bright smile and false façade he so often put on for his family and friends, and sighed heavily. It had been blatantly obvious that Finn did not want to discuss a single thing about the wedding, and it was even more obvious that the taller boy simply did not want to spend any time with him at all. Kurt supposed he should be grateful for Finn treating him vaguely like a human being, which was more than the other jocks did, but it still hurt when the football team threw a slushy in his face, and the boy turned around and pretended not to have noticed. Kurt did not let on that he was aware that Finn knew about the bullying, because he did not want to cause any tension with their new family, and his dad and Carole seemed so happy. Carole was a lovely woman, and although Kurt missed his own mother terribly, and had done since she died when he was just eight years old, he deemed her a worthy match for his dad. Burt was his rock; they had both been through so much together over the last few years, and initially, Kurt had been nervous to come out to his dad. However, when Burt told him casually that he had always known because all Kurt wanted when he was three years old was a pair of sensible heels, he realised that there had been nothing to worry about. They were completely different, but Kurt loved his father so much. He had seen truly awful fathers – one in particular who he tried to forget everyday, and he considered Burt to be one in a million. So Kurt had been happy when his dad and Carole announced that they were going to be married, and he had readily volunteered to be wedding planner. He wanted to help them both out but mainly Kurt took the job to give him something to do other than focus on the intense loneliness and emptiness he constantly felt. It had been that way for six years, and he did not think it would ever get better. He had just learned to live with it.

Even before 'coming out', Kurt had been bullied constantly from pre-school all the way to high school. When he really came out however, things got a hundred times worse. Apparently most people had already suspected it, and the bullying remained on a fairly standard level, except on the part of one person. There was one Neanderthal-type jock that seemed to have made it his mission in life to make Kurt's existence a misery, and the worst part was that nobody seemed to notice or care. Or if they did, they did nothing. David Karofsky had moved to the school last year during Kurt's freshman year, before he came out, and he had been a fairly standard jock – popular but did not go out of his way to make his life a misery. It was only in the last few months or so that this had all changed, and Kurt could not help but get upset, wondering why he was suddenly being treated like the dirt on the bottom of someone's shoe. Whenever Karofsky saw him, he would either spit out words of awful abuse, or trip him up in the corridor, or even slam him up against the lockers for no apparent reason. Bullying was no rare occurrence for Kurt but it was the loathing and hate he saw in Karofsky's eyes that hurt him the most; as if the other boy was condemning his right to exist simply because he was gay. The bullying had gotten so bad of late that Kurt had briefly considered telling his dad before deciding against it. It would only ruin his happiness and he was busy enough as it was.

Glancing around him warily for any signs of Karofsky, Kurt entered the school and approached his locker. Although he had been bullied his whole life because of his clothes and his high pitched, falsetto voice, there had been a time when he just did not care. Nothing had mattered because he had been happy. One boy – his best friend in the whole wide world, had made him so happy and encouraged him so hard to be exactly who he was, that Kurt had not minded when people teased him, or pushed him over. Because at the end of the day, he would link arms or hands and walk home with that boy, who would deem the bullies 'jealous jerks', and they would laugh over the silliest but mot wonderful things. Smiling slightly at the memories that flashed before his eyes, Kurt followed his morning ritual and opened his locker, staring longingly at the photo stuck onto the inside of the door. A younger version of himself grinned back at him, his arms around a smaller, amber-eyed boy with sleekly gelled back dark hair and a dazzling smile. He too had his arms protectively encircled around Kurt and for an instant he could almost imagine being back at the moment in which the photo had been taken. It had been Kurt's tenth birthday – just over a year before everything good came crashing down – and Burt had made a swing for him from one of the spare tyres at his shop. In the picture, he and the other boy were both clinging to the rubber of the tyre swing, happy and content, not knowing what the future was to bring.

Blaine Anderson had not only been his best friend, but also his saviour. Even though the boy was a year younger than him, and smaller, he had always been quick to defend Kurt from the nasty sneers and pushes from his classmates when they attended school together. He was always the first to find him crying in the boys toilets where upon he would pull Kurt into a cubicle away from the public eye, and hug him tightly until the tears stopped. He knew instinctively when Kurt wanted to talk or cry about the bullying and he always knew perfectly when Kurt wanted to just sit and chat about the dumbest topics imaginable. Blaine had not always been and was not an obvious social outcast, but he had put himself in the firing line by befriending Kurt, and even though Kurt had felt guilty about that, he knew that Blaine just did not care. They had chanced upon the luck that they had also been next door neighbours so whenever Kurt was unhappy, Blaine would come over and they would simply cuddle up on the Hummels' couch. And vice versa. Because even though everyone thought that Blaine Anderson was a confident, outgoing, carefree young boy, he was not. In a way, as Kurt got older, he thought that Blaine must have needed him just as much as he needed Blaine, because the younger boy had suffered an extremely abusive home life, which only he and eventually Burt came to know about. He remembered the scratches on Blaine's arms and legs from the belt beatings his father would give him, a number of times a day depending on how drunk he was. Everyone had thought Jonathon Anderson was a well respected, sociable man running a very well thought of law firm. It was only when he ran that the news came out that he was actually a fraudulent crook who had taken people's money without any intention of paying it back or working for it. Kurt remembered all too well that horrific morning that Blaine had been dragged from his house after a harrowing night at the hospital, where Blaine's confident façade had come shattering down, revealing a vulnerability which only Kurt had ever seen. The older boy could recall Blaine's panicky scream of 'I love you' to him as his father seized hold of his hair, and whilst Kurt tried to lunge after his best friend, only to have Burt holding him back. Kurt loved Burt dearly, but that incident was perhaps the only time he had been disappointed in his father, and to this day, was not sure if he had forgiven him for that. Blaine had been carted away that day, never to be seen or heard from again. After hearing how distressed Blaine was and seeing what a monster Mr Anderson really was, Kurt had always wondered heartbrokenly whether Blaine was even still alive. Because if he was, surely he would be old enough now to at least call him. As time went on, Kurt had begun to wonder whether Blaine had simply forgotten about him. Maybe he was weird for feeling so connected to the other boy, especially when they had been so young, but he had felt almost as if they were soul mates. Being separated from each other had been agonising for both of them at the time, and there was not a day that went by without Kurt wondering what Blaine could be doing at a certain moment, or remembering snippets of events or conversations they had.

The problem was that no other friendship could compare to the bond he and Blaine had. Being openly gay and thus, condemned at McKinley by most people, he had two relatively close friends – Mercedes Jones, an African-American girl, slightly on the large side with a powerhouse singing voice and a big heart, and Tina Cohen-Chang, a shy Asian girl who nevertheless had quite frequent mood swings. Recently, Kurt had also struck up an on-off friendship with Rachel Berry, Finn's girlfriend. She was the frontrunner in the glee club and thus would shoot anyone down who had an intention to take her all important solo away from her, thus leading her and Kurt to sometimes come to blows, because he could also be a force of nature when it came to singing. All three of those girls, despite Rachel being Finn's girlfriend, were unpopular just like he was, and though he loved them all in his own way, the friendship they had did not compare to what he and Blaine had had. Perhaps it had been because Blaine practically grew up in the Hummel household, because he preferred to spend time with Kurt at his house then being told how worthless he was by his dad. Kurt could not blame him one bit, and certainly never complained. He missed Blaine everyday.

His thoughts were disrupted suddenly when he felt a hand on his back, pushing him heavily against the lockers so that stumbled in surprise and crashed ungracefully to the floor. Trying to ignore the pain in his back from the rough push, Kurt glanced up and saw Dave Karofsky smirking and leering at him, murmuring 'Fag' as he walked away down the corridor. Kurt's first urge was to cry, but as always he kept himself together and held his head high. Whilst he composed himself, drawing his knees up to his body and leaning with his back against the lockers, he watched the people around him. No one was looking, and he doubted that anyone had even noticed the homophobic abuse that had just taken place. It was a mark of how ignorant McKinley High School was that kids just thought shoving and throwing slushy's in people's faces was the social norm. That was one of the reasons he could not wait to get out of Lima and into the big city – perhaps New York. He and Blaine had dreamed and planned to move to New York together when they were young. Kurt sighed. With his luck, he would probably end up living in Lima for the rest of his life, working at the 'Lima Bean'. It wasn't that being a barista was a problem; just that it was not what Kurt wanted to do, and there were funkier ways to make a living. Namely on the stage.

Kurt took in a deep, soothing breath, blinking away any tears that might possibly have formed before getting to his feet and taking the books from his locker that he needed for the day. With one last glance at the photo of him and Blaine, he muttered to himself 'Courage' before closing the locker door and heading to his first class of the day.

* * *

Burt turned sharply into the hospital parking lot, parking a little carelessly before quickly hopping out of the truck, locking it and jogging towards the hospital. Thankfully, Carole seemed to have planned ahead, because as he approached the entrance, he saw that she was standing there, pacing backwards and forwards, a haunted look in her eyes. When he reached her, she looked up and celebrated his arrival by placing her arms tightly around him. He did the same to her, holding her gently for a few moments because he could sense that she was still upset about what she had seen this morning. Eventually, they pulled away from each other and Burt murmured quietly but urgently:

"Where is he?"

"Second floor," she replied, equally subdued. "We had to put him on the children's ward because… god Burt… he's still a child… he's not even sixteen yet."

"I know." Burt whispered, drawing an arm around her and pulling her close as they walked towards the lift.

"But because of what he's been through, they've given him a private room to himself. It's probably best under circumstances."

Burt just nodded and was extremely thankful that the lift was already waiting on the ground floor to take them up, so they wouldn't have to wait several minutes for it to come back down. They stepped inside and Carole expertly pressed the correct floor, causing the door to close the lift to jerk upwards. There was a small silence as they waited to reach their destination, and it was only broken when the doors opened again on the second floor and they stepped out into the ward. It smelt strongly of disinfectant and illness; that god-awful combination he had become so used to when visiting his late wife, Elizabeth in hospital in her final weeks of life. He pushed these thoughts to focus on what he came for. Blaine.

"Burt, who is Blaine?" Carole asked tentatively, because she could see how disturbed and angry the man she loved was over this poor boy getting hurt. One moment he had sworn he did not know a fifteen-year-old boy and the next he was hurrying over to the hospital in record time.

Burt sighed, "I know I have questions to answer, but could I just check it's him first. I… I need to know."

Carole hesitated, and Burt knew there was something more to the story than Blaine just being beaten up. Something really wrong had happened, and that was why she was so upset.

"What aren't you telling me honey?" he asked gently but fearfully, and to his surprise, and dread, she took his hand and led him over to an empty row of white plastic seats set just outside the section of the floor entitled 'Welcome to the Children's Ward'. He lowered himself onto a seat beside her, ignoring how uncomfortable it was, and keeping his eyes focused on his partner, waiting a little impatiently for her to form the right words to tell him what was going on.

"The boy… Blaine." Carole eventually said quietly, almost in a deadened tone of voice. "He was hurt really quite badly and… and it's probably going to take him quite a while to get over what happened. If… if he ever does." Burt swallowed; dread creeping up inside every area of his heart. He prayed silently to anyone who may be up there in the sky that the boy would be alright; that Carole was exaggerating or giving him the worst case scenario. "His left arm is broken in two places, probably from falling to the ground or… or trying to battle his… his attacker." Carole stuttered. It was becoming increasingly harder to tell the man she loved that a boy he so obviously cared about had ben violated in such a serious way. "He has a very high fever and is dehydrated. Doctor Andrews – he's a good doctor and knows what he's doing – he's put him on a saline drip to drop his temperature back down but it's our guess that he has chronic hypothermia."

"Oh Jeez," Burt muttered, crouching down and putting his head in his hands, but still was unable to break eye contact from Carole. There was still something she was not telling him, and from the fear in her eyes, he had a horrible feeling that he knew what it was. He prayed that he was wrong.

"Blaine was freezing when we brought him in; he had nothing on him – no food, money I.D, and his clothes and skin were filthy. We… we don't think he's been at home, wherever that is, in a long time. On the contrary, we think he's been sleeping on the streets. He's positively exhausted. Doctor Andrews suspected that he's been travelling for a while on foot without food or water, because he's… severely malnourished. That's… that's probably why he didn't stand a chance against… well the person who did this."

"The _bastard_ who did this." Burt amended bitingly, and it was a mark of just how angry he was that he swore. Carole rarely, if ever, heard the man swear. He had removed his customary baseball cap and was running his hands stressfully over his balding scalp, trying to comprehend what his partner was telling him. How could one boy have suffered so much? Why had Blaine been sleeping on the streets? Burt gritted his teeth because he knew the answer already – Jonathon Anderson had obviously done something really wrong this time. He looked up from his crouched position into Carole's watery eyes and steeled himself for what was about to be said, "That's not the worst of it is it?"

Carole's chin trembled slightly and she moved to grip his hand tightly, shaking her head. She took a series of deep breaths before she looked back at him clearly and whispered, "He wasn't just beaten. He… he was raped."

For an instant Burt felt nothing; the horrific news seemed to numb his entire body. It was only when Carole squeezed his hand in comfort from next to him that his brain processed what she had just said, and he was filled with hot, boiling, grievous rage. The little boy with the dapper, slightly mischievous grin who had changed both his and Kurt's lives for the better, especially after Elizabeth's death, had… had been raped. Blaine, who over the six years Burt had known him and had come to view him as a son to him, had been… violated. The boy who had come with him and Kurt to this very hospital nine years ago to hold Kurt's hand and console him, even when he was so young himself, when Elizabeth died – he had been… On the drive to the hospital, Burt had felt a surge of hope with the news that Blaine had been found. He always wondered what had happened to the boy, and although he had not told Kurt because it might get his hopes up, he had tried through various channels to find Blaine, or at least make sure he was safe. However, Jonathon Anderson had covered his tracks very carefully and nothing had come of his searches or requests. Yet now, Burt just wanted this not to have happened. No one deserved such a fate, but he could not help but selfishly wish that it _wasn't _Blaine lying in that hospital bed; that the boy had asked for someone else and that Carole had got it wrong. It wasn't Blaine. It couldn't be him.

Burt tore his hand away from Carole, barely controlling his fury has he stood and paced up and down the corridor, his hands massaging his head in a desperate attempt to keep calm. Carole only forced back more tears as she saw her soon-to-be husband in such a state, and watched him quietly. After what seemed like hours but was actually a matter of minutes, Burt said shakily:

"I… I need to see him."

Carole nodded, but still made no move. She hesitated before saying softly, "Burt… the beatings he had – some of them were fresh, but there were many… old scars on his body. I've seen domestic abuse cases Burt," she whispered quietly, as he closed his eyes and wiped his hands over his face tiredly. When he kept them there, she knew he was hiding tears, but she also knew that he wouldn't want her to fuss over it. Instead she continued, "The x-ray showed that several of his ribs have been broken before, he has scars that look as if they've been caused by… I don't know… a belt? Solid objects – not skin to skin impact."

Burt forced the oncoming tears away with the palms of his hands and told himself to man up – he was an adult and this time he wouldn't let Blaine down. Ultimately, he would have to be strong for the boy… and for Kurt. _Oh Kurt_, he thought miserably. At some point, he would have to call him and tell him. He replaced his hands to his sides and repeated his statement from earlier:

"I… I need to see him."

Carole looked at him worriedly.

"I need to check that it's him." Burt expanded, although he just knew that it would be.

Carole nodded and stood from the seat, indicating with her eyes that he should follow her. She turned and entered the children's ward, Burt following in her wake. The passed many rooms full of sleeping or poorly children, though some were laughing or singing. But Burt could not hear the sound of laughter at that moment; all he could think about was the boy he had allowed to be manhandled out of his kitchen door, whilst he stood and did nothing. Eventually, they came to a stop at a generic, white-washed hospital room door, which Carole opened quietly and Burt followed her inside.

The sight which met him broke his heart. Lying unconscious and clearly heavily medicated in the large cot, with his uninjured right arm hooked up to a saline drip, and an oxygen mask covering his lower face, was the tiny form of Blaine Anderson. Obviously, he was older than Burt remembered him. After all, six years had passed since they had last seen each other. The boy's dark hair which used to be so carefully and attentively gelled back was longer and uninhibited into curls, which were tangled and wet, either from the sweat of the fever or from washing. He knew that many homeless patients were washed before they were allowed to rest in the clean white sheets of hospital beds. The most heart-breaking aspect of Blaine's appearance was how blatantly underweight he was. Even with a white hospital gown, and a soft, warm blanket covering him, it was obvious that he had not had eaten much, if anything, at least in the last couple of months. The boy's eyes were closed yet Burt could see how exhausted he was from the dark circles that surrounded his eyelids. There were bruises all down the length of his visible arm, but the other was hidden by a cast, and if he looked closely, Burt could make out the faintest scar from the head wound Jonathon Anderson had inflicted on his son six years previously. It was such a depressive sight that for an instant Burt found it hard to believe this was the boy who had so often bounded with endless, positive energy around his house with Kurt. Unable to stop himself, he let out a sob: "Oh kiddo."

Carole also had tears in her eyes and together they took the two empty seats to the right of Blaine's bed. Burt Hummel had never been a touchy feely kind of man; that had always been Kurt's forte; however at that moment he could not stop himself from reaching out of place his hand gently on top of Blaine's wrist, to avoid the needle in his hand.

"I'm sorry, bud," he whispered softly, his voice cracking every so often with sadness and guilt, and he didn't dare look at Carole. She however thought she had never loved her partner more. "I'm so sorry this had to happen. I'm… I'm so sorry we didn't come after you that day."

Carole wiped away her own tears, wondering how she could become attached to this unknown boy so quickly, especially seeing Burt's reaction to him in a hospital bed. She had only ever seen him cry once, and that was when he talked of Elizabeth's passing, and the struggle to be a good father to Kurt. She looked at him curiously, wondering what he was talking about.

"It's going to be alright, buddy," Burt promised Blaine quietly, clearing his throat and gaining control of himself again. He knew the boy could not hear him, but talking to him made Burt feel strangely a little better. It was almost as if he was reassuring himself as well as the unconscious teenager. "From now on, it'll be okay. You're safe now. You're home."

Silence then reigned, during which Burt removed his hand from Blaine's wrist and sat there blankly, his mind a mist of memories, and trying to figure out how to tell Kurt what had happened. He could not let his son see Blaine like this; it would truly break him and the last thing he wanted to do was see his son hurting. He didn't really know how Kurt would react. Kurt did not speak openly of Blaine very often but Burt could always tell that he thought about him; whenever he saw the rubber tyre swing dangling now a little raggedly from the tree in the back garden, or when he stared at the picture frame on his bedside cabinet of Blaine and himself enacting a two-man show, there was a glazed, almost peaceful look in his eye which he did not carry with him in everyday life. But after six years, and after such a terrible thing had happened to Blaine, how would the two react to each other? Burt shook his head – perhaps he was getting too far ahead of himself. At that moment in time, Blaine was his responsibility, and he had to think about what was best for him.

"Burt…"Carole said suddenly, drawing him out of his reverie. He turned his head to look at her and she repeated her question from earlier, slowly, almost tentatively, "Who is Blaine?"

Burt sighed, but knew she deserved answers. He looked briefly and Blaine who was still blissfully unconscious before taking a deep breath:

"Blaine Anderson was Kurt's childhood friend." He stated simply. "His best friend. They were inseparable; they quite literally went everywhere together. Blaine was… _is_ a year younger than Kurt but that never seemed to matter to them – they were equals in each other's eyes and that was what was so great about their friendship, I guess." Burt smiled softly at the memory of Kurt coming home the first time they met each other, a bewildered yet outwardly confident young Blaine trailing in his wake. "They first met each other at school… apparently some of the kids were picking on Kurt for his voice, and his clothes. Long story short, Blaine, who was five years old and half the size of these bullies defended Kurt and they became friends forever more." Burt's smile widened as he recounted fond memories of the two kids, "They both had similar interests… well… perhaps Blaine wasn't as…" he searched for the right word. "out there as Kurt in terms of fashion and what not, but they both used to put on these duets and two-man shows which of course I had to be the audience for."

Carole smiled softly, "Of course."

"Blaine… Blaine encouraged Kurt to be who he was despite what the bullies said." He gave a watery chuckle, "Hell, _I_ learnt that lesson from _him_, and he was a little kid. He was there when Elizabeth died and… and at a time when I didn't know what I was doing. He helped Kurt through it in his own little way. They had this bond which I could… I could never quite figure out what exactly it was. Sometimes I would forget that I only had one son," Burt recalled fondly. "He spent so much time at our house I forgot he wasn't mine." His eyes darkened suddenly. "And when I told him it was time for him to go home, you could something in his eyes… something that made you realise that the his home life wasn't perfect. Everyday he put on this confident little show but at times, you could just tell that something wasn't right... he was… vulnerable." He growled sharply, "Of course, I eventually found out why that was."

"What?" Carole asked quietly, although she had a feeling she knew what was coming already.

Burt sighed, wiping his hands over his eyes tiredly again, "Blaine and his family were our next door neighbours. They moved there just as Kurt was starting school, but Elizabeth and I hardly saw hide nor hair of Blaine or his mom before he started school the following year. The only people we saw were Cooper, Blaine's older brother and Jonathon, Blaine's dad." Burt's eyes darkened considerably and Carole was alarmed to see something akin to loathing in them. Burt Hummel was a fair-minded man; he did not hate anyone lightly. "Cooper was nothing short of self-absorbed, arrogant and it was quite clear he didn't give a damn about his family. He was twelve years older than Blaine and left school at sixteen to become an actor. He got a role on a daytime soap opera and left Ohio – he only came back occasionally for visits, or when he needed Jonathan's money. You could sum up _Jonathan_ in three words:" he growled angrily. "a showman, a bully and a crook. On the outside he ran a respectful law firm and he could turn he charm on just like that. Women loved him; there were rumours of the countless affairs he had, but few actually believed them because he was so good at putting on a show. First and foremost, Anderson was a bully though. The sounds of yelling coming from that house were enough to keep all of us awake, especially Kurt – he as only young at the time, and he didn't really know what was going on thankfully. He would yell and drag his wife around like a piece of meat; that much was obvious when you heard them yelling on the street. But Anderson told this story about his wife, Grace, being sick… mentally… that she had these episodes where he had to shout to reason with her or else never be heard. Again, people believed him."

"You didn't?" Carole said half-smiling, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Burt shrugged, "It probably wasn't any of my business. But no, I didn't. I met Grace quite a few times; she and Elizabeth got on well and would occasionally have coffee at her place when Jonathan was out. Elizabeth met Blaine before Kurt and I did, and she described him as sweet and loving… the same words she used to describe Grace. And I sure as hell wasn't going to believe Jonathan Anderson over my wife." Carole's smile widened in adoration; she knew she was lucky to have such a loyal, moral man as Burt Hummel. Burt had gone silent for a moment, and Carole wondered if the tale was over before he continued gravely, "Grace committed suicide about three months before Blaine started school."

Carole gasped, her heart thumping, and she looked back over to the fragile boy on the bed, who had been through so much. "Oh my God."

Burt nodded sadly in agreement and joined her gaze on Blaine. "She overdosed on sleeping pills so it was clean and quiet. Elizabeth said that Blaine didn't even know until his dad came home and called an ambulance, saying that his 'mentally ill wife had tried to take her own life'. Blaine thought she was just asleep."

Carole felt the need to take Blaine's hand, regardless of the fact that it had the needle and cannula stuck inside it. "Poor boy." She whispered.

Burt was quiet for a moment, fidgeting with his baseball cap as if not knowing quite how to carry on, "Obviously I suspected a different reason for her... doing what she did but… anyway Blaine started school, met Kurt… he never talked about his mom's death, and I didn't push him to do so. That was probably why he was so good at helping Kurt through Elizabeth's death – he knew what it was like. They probably became closer still because of it. I was actually surprised how bright and confident he seemed after he'd gone through so much but as I said… there were signs that things weren't okay. I just wished I had noticed and... done something sooner. For all the time I knew him, Blaine _constantly_ had bruises. At first I thought this was normal… boys get into trouble, they climb trees, they get messy... they fall over. But as he grew up, I noticed that they were getting worse. And you could still hear shouting from next door. Except this time, it was just Jonathan." Burt put his head in his hands and muttered gutturally, "I began to suspect that Jonathan was being physically abusive towards Blaine. And still I didn't speak up. I just… how do you approach a nine or ten year-old kid and ask them if their dad is… is _hitting_ them?"

Carole gazed sadly at Burt, realising just how guilty he felt, but knowing that he was right. At such a tender age, it would have been a very awkward subject to broach. Plus, with Blaine seemingly acting like everything was fine, he would probably have lied or clammed up. She watched as a mixture of fury and guilt flooded through his eyes again.

"He told Kurt." Burt uttered sadly. "He told Kurt about his dad hitting him, and yelling terrible… awful things at him. But Kurt didn't come to me because he promised Blaine that he wouldn't tell anyone. And Jonathan… that… that sorry excuse for a dad threatened and terrified him so much that he didn't feel he could tell anyone." Carole listened, her eyes watering with tears again. She was a nurse. She heard and saw domestic abuse cases all the time, but to hear a case so personal from a man she loved very much, and about the hurting, innocent boy in the bed in front of her, made it all the more heart-breaking. "Kurt only told me all this later when Blaine was… well…"

Burt sighed, placing his baseball cap back on his head out of his need to do something with his hands. "And then one night… he would have been ten and Kurt eleven…"

**Next part shall be up soon if you want. Sorry for the lack of a promised Klaine reunion but I got a little overenthusiastic with the writing. It's coming though. Please review if you have a minute.**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thank you to all of you lovely people who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story. And apologies for the lateness of the chapter. Please review and I hope you enjoy._**

_A pounding on the door brought Burt to his senses, and it took him a moment to work out where he was. Groaning and running a hand over his face tiredly, he realised that he had fallen asleep on the couch again whilst watching the match. The television had been turned off, and Kurt, who had been curled up next to him sketching disproportionate, faceless models wearing oddly flamboyant outfits, was absent. Realising that his son must have had more sense than he did and gone to bed, turning the television off on his way out, Burt stood and tried to remember why he had been woken again. The answer soon came to him as the pounding on the door became increasingly insistent, and within seconds, he heard Kurt's footsteps on the stairs and his boy appeared next to him, clad in pyjamas, his normally neatly crafted hair tousled. _

"_W-What's g-going on?" he yawned sleepily as the knocking continued. "Who's at the door?" _

_Kurt was about to step forwards to answer the door when Burt finally came to his senses and pulled Kurt backwards. _

"_No," he said firmly to his son. "There are all kinds of people outside at this time of night." He nodded to the couch. "Why don't you sit down and I'll answer the door?" _

_Kurt, who was still too tired to object, obeyed and walked over to the couch whilst Burt undid the metal catch and opened the door slowly. Before he could register what was happening, a small figure that must have actually been leaning on the door for support fell forwards into the threshold of the house. Burt, whose reactions had been dimmed by sleep, almost did not catch him, however he was extremely thankful that he did when he realised who it was. He would recognise that gelled dark hair anywhere. _

"_Blaine!" he cried urgently, all sleepiness lost when the boy fell headfirst into his arms. At his father's startled cry, and recognising the name of his friend at once, Kurt shot up from the sofa and dashed over to where the pair was standing. Had it not been for Burt's arms holding on protectively around Blaine's small frame he was sure the kid would have collapsed straight to the ground, and he soon noticed why. _

_Running down the right side of Blaine's face from his forehead to just underneath his right eye was a profusely bleeding wound that looked as if someone had tried and succeeded in throwing a sharp or glass object directly at him. As it was, the sight looked much worse because the unattended wound was causing blood to dribble down his cheeks and onto his now staining clothes, whilst there was already swelling enflaming around his right eye and Blaine appeared to be unwilling to or unable to open it. In fact, the boy seemed to be having trouble staying conscious at all, hence him falling headfirst into Burt's arms and hanging there limply. Judging from the fact that despite his semiconscious state Blaine had tears running down his cheeks, mingling with the blood already settling there, Burt had no trouble working out who had done this. _

_Kurt finally reached them and let out a horrified scream, rushing at once to Blaine's side:_

"_Blaine!" he cried, tears instantly welling up in his eyes as he took in the deep cut and his best friend's terrified face. "Blaine, what happened? Are you okay? Please say something!" When Blaine just let out an incoherent, choked up mumble and a spasmodic sob, Kurt also began to cry, looking desperately up at Burt. "W-What's wrong with him dad? W-We've got to help him. We-"_

_Burt did not need anymore time to assess Blaine's injuries before he knew what to do. Not wanting Kurt to get even more upset than he already was, he said firmly but gently to his son, "Go upstairs, get dressed and in your coat – we're going to the hospital." _

_Kurt did not need telling twice. With one more terrified look at his injured companion he nodded and charged from the room, running all he way up the stairs. As he did so, Burt could hear him still sobbing and closed his eyes painfully. He always hated seeing and hearing his son cry. He then looked down at the little boy hanging limply in his arms, who he considered to also be a son, and wondered angrily how on earth a father could not only make his son cry, but hurt him to such an inhumane degree. Carefully he put one hand underneath Blaine's legs and the other behind the kid's back, lifting him into his arms, walking a little way to the couch and placing him down gently. When he tried to touch the boy's head to further inspect the wound, Blaine cried out tearfully in pain and placed his already bloody hands automatically to the cut. All pretence of confidence and joyfulness were gone from the kid, and Burt had to admit that it terrified him. Blaine was usually so good at covering up whatever was going on at home, but clearly tonight he was in so much pain and was so distraught that he just desperately needed help. And he tuned to him and Kurt. Burt subsequently vowed not to let the kid down, as well as making a mental note to call child protective services later on once Blaine was well enough. _If _Blaine was well enough, he amended. The poor boy was now sobbing so hard and clinging in agony to his right eye that Burt was concerned he was making the wound even worse. Gently, Burt reached forwards and disengaged Blaine's hands from his face, holding them tightly in his own to stop the boy from doing any further damage. He could feel pressure against his hands; Blaine aching to replace his hands back over his eye but Burt kept a firm hold. _

"_No, bud," he told the boy softly. "just keep your hands away from your face okay? It'll just make it hurt even more." Blaine just cried a further in response, yet Burt was sure he had heard him because the kid suddenly became more awake and alert at hearing his voice, his good eye settling on the man. Deciding that keeping him conscious was the best idea, Burt continued to keep talking. "Can you open your other eye for me kiddo?" _

"_N-no." Blaine responded, trembling. Burt knew that the boy was not being deliberately disobedient or rude in his refusal; he genuinely thought he was not able to, or worse, he _couldn't_ open his right eye. However Burt persevered, knowing that if the child genuinely could not open his eye then the wound was worse than he thought. _

"_I know it'll hurt, bud," he sympathised gently, "But believe me, you have to try to open your eye otherwise it'll be worse later on when we get to the hospital. Just give it a go." He encouraged. _

_Although Blaine looked reluctant and terrified at the mere thought of the task, his eye slowly flickered open but then closed instantly, Blaine letting out a whimper of pain; his hands moving in Burt's as if itching to hold onto his head again. _

"_Okay," Burt praised. "That's good. You're doing good," although he was not sure if a brief opening of the eye was good progress or not. Still, he did not want to distress the boy even more so he did not demand he do it again. _

_A few minutes later Kurt came dashing back down the stairs again, his coat wrapped tightly around him, clutching a towel. He handed it to Burt, and it took a few seconds for the man to catch onto what his boy had brought the towel for. Then realisation dawned and, giving Kurt a brief but proud smile, he pressed the towel gently against Blaine's bleeding head. The younger boy winced in pain, this time squeezing both eyes, as he whimpered blindly, "Kurt?" _

_Although Kurt looked terrified and quite sick at the sight of his bleeding friend, he stepped up to the plate and kneeled down next to his father, taking Blaine's hands so that Burt could wrap the towel around the boy's head. "I… I'm here Blaine." He comforted his younger friend, though his voice shook slightly. _

_Blaine did not open his eyes, but he certainly seemed more comforted by Kurt's presence and touch; the tears stopped a little and he gave a brief ghost of a smile, squeezing Kurt's hands in response. Burt finished wrapping the towel around the boy's head and lifted Blaine carefully into his arms again, "Kurt my keys are on the kitchen counter, bud. Fetch them and open the car door." _

_Once again, Kurt sniffed and nodded obediently, squeezing Blaine's hands gently before letting go and running off to get the keys. Blaine let out a whimper at the loss but did not start crying again. It was almost as if he knew that his tears would consequently make Kurt more upset, because Burt noticed that whilst Blaine was relatively calm, so was Kurt. Kurt returned a few seconds later with the keys and he and Burt, with Blaine still in the man's arms hurried outside to the car, Kurt locking the front door behind him. _

"_Kurt can you sit upfront with me and I'll lay Blaine across the back seat?" Burt suggested to his son, who immediately looked distressed again. _

"_Can't I stay with him?" he asked pleadingly. "Please. I can-"_

"_Bud, I don't think that's a good idea." Burt muttered doubtfully, although he hated seeing his baby boy so heartbroken. He simply did not want Kurt to have to see his usually calm and composed friend crying and bleeding anymore than he had to. _

"_Dad, please…" Kurt cried, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks, and again, as if sensing Kurt's anguish, Blaine turned his head in Burt's arms and opened his good eye, as if trying to locate where his best friend was standing. _

_Sighing, Burt looked down at the suffering, injured boy in his arms and then to his tearful son; two kids he loved too much to separate in that terrible moment and so eventually nodded. He made sure Kurt was secured in with his seatbelt before laying Blaine carefully across the back seat, so that his towel-wrapped head was in Kurt's lap. Burt then closed the door as carefully as he could to avoid causing Blaine anymore pain and started towards the driver's door. As he did, he thought he saw an angry face appear at the window of the Anderson household before the sound of glass bottles smashing against solid wall was clearly audible. Burt quelled his boiling rage for the moment, settling to express it only with low growl before opening the door and climbing into the truck and switching on the ignition. _

_The journey to the hospital was quiet with the exception of the terrified, but gentle whispers of comfort Kurt was directing at Blaine, and each time Burt looked into his rear view mirror he could see that the both boys were gripping onto each other's hands for dear life. Intermittently, Blaine would allow a whimper or two to escape as they drove over unavoidable road bumps, or when the car came to a stop at a red light, but for the most part, he seemed to be trying to keep calm. Burt suspected this was either due to Kurt's safe presence or Blaine feeling the need to remain calm in order to keep Kurt calm. Actually, he suspected both reasons. The only audible snippet of conversation he overheard made him even angrier:_

"_Was it your dad that hurt you?" Kurt asked softly, clearly trying to keep his voice down so that Burt could not hear. _

_Burt however did hear and he looked briefly in the rear view mirror in time to see Blaine respond with the tiniest nod of affirmation and a small, "Yes." _

_In case either of the boys noticed he had been listening and watching, Burt made a show of leaning forward in the driver's seat and squinting at a road sign up ahead directing them to the hospital, stating loudly, "Nearly there now." _

_Thankfully, the ER was not incredibly busy at that time of night. It was late enough for it to be way past Kurt and Blaine's bedtime, but time yet for the drunken-related incidents of Lima to come flooding in through the doors. Due to the wound being quite deep, and the fact that Blaine had lost so much blood that he was starting become extremely dizzy and muttering faintly about a headache, he was seen and examined quickly. Blaine was laid carefully onto a gurney and wheeled into a small, curtained cubicle where two overly-cheerful nurses promptly removed the now ruined towel from his head and began firstly by cleaning the excess blood from his face and around his eye, whilst waiting for the on-call doctor to examine him. Burt and Kurt stayed by his side the whole time. Kurt pleaded to hold Blaine's hand but the nurses would not hear of it, and they suggested to Burt that he and Kurt wait outside because Kurt's tearful voice was starting to distress Blaine again. That was when they started to ask awkward questions which Burt was not sure he could or should give the correct answers to. _

_The most prominent question of course was how Blaine had ended up being injured in such a way. Burt was torn how to answer this; on the one hand he wanted desperately to blurt out straight away that it had been Blaine's sadistic, bullying monster of a father, but on the other, he remembered how careful the boy had been to cover his home life up, and Kurt also seemed to be willing to help his friend keep his secret. Burt questioned himself as to whether he would be betraying the two boys if he gave up Blaine's father. Jonathan Anderson would almost certainly be arrested and for that, Burt would be glad. It was where the man belonged. However this then raised the question: what would happen to Blaine? Most likely, he would be put into foster care and would be moved to the nearest available children's home. Lima was a small town; the nearest foster home would probably be in Westerville which would be miles away. Blaine's life would be turned upside down; he probably wouldn't see Kurt anymore; he would be transferred from institution to institution and there was no way Burt wanted that for the poor kid. And he knew he didn't want that for Kurt either. The two of them had blossomed in their friendship. They shared a unique bond Burt had never seen before. But then again, foster care would surely be better in the long run for Blaine than coming home each day to a dad that said and did goodness knows what to him. _

_The other question was ironically: 'Are you his dad?'. Burt was sorely tempted to just agree and say he was; he loved the boy as if he was his own son, but unfortunately, he was aware that lying about such a matter would probably be against the law. However if he was asked if he knew where Blaine's father actually was to contact him and tell him his son was in the hospital, what was Burt supposed to tell them? His own father did the damage? Essentially, both questions rounded up with the same answer, and Burt decided to prolong his decision and play for time, waiting until Blaine was a little better before taking action against Jonathan; brushing off their questions with vague replies. If Burt was certain of one thing however, it was that he was not letting Blaine go back to that man and that house. Now that he definitely knew of Jonathan Anderson's abuse towards his son, he vowed not to let the man hurt him again. _

_Instead he sat on two plastic seats by Blaine's occupied gurney, an arm wrapped around Kurt's shoulders as his boy let silent tears run down his cheeks now that Blaine could not see him, and the other holding Blaine's left hand to keep him calm, only occasionally letting go when the nurses fussed around the cot. It was a slightly numbing thought that all three of them had been in this very hospital three years ago, discovering Elizabeth had passed away during the night. Those had been very different and disturbing circumstances, and Burt was very thankful that he and Kurt were not going to lose Blaine too. However, if Blaine was _made_ to return home by some unjustly force, perhaps they would not be so lucky. Seeing Jonathon Anderson's enraged face at the window glaring at them a few hours ago not only made Burt very angry indeed, but also left him without a doubt that Blaine's father was not going to stop hurting his son. As the nurses gently cleaned up most of the surrounding blood from the gash around his eye, Burt could see tiny shards of brown and green glass sitting painfully inside the wound and he winced, recalling the sound of Jonathan's beer bottles smashing against the wall of the house. At least he now knew what had happened, but it only fuelled his fury even more. Who the hell threw solid objects, much less, glass objects at someone? And more specifically – how sick did you have to be to direct these attacks at your ten-year-old son? _

"_Dad." Kurt mumbled quietly, nudging him, and Burt drifted out of is reverie just in time to see a tall, friendly-looking middle-aged doctor enter, clad in a signature white coat, dress shirt and tie; the image of dapperness, making Burt feel quite out of place in his flannel shirt, jeans and baseball cap. The man smiled briefly in acknowledgement of both Burt and Kurt before turning to Blaine who had bravely taken the dabbing at his wounds, but now shrunk away from the tall new presence in the room. _

"_You must be Blaine," the man said gently, flashing a friendly smile at the injured boy before him. "I'm Doctor Matthews and I hear… and see," he nodded towards the wound. "that you've had a bit of an accident." _

_Burt certainly would not have called it an accident, and he was fairly sure Doctor Matthews did not believe it was either, but he sensed that the man was simply trying to put Blaine at ease before he helped him. _

"_I'm going to need to have a little look at your head first," Doctor Matthews explained to Blaine carefully, glancing a couple of times at Burt as well to make sure the boy's apparent guardian knew what was going on. "- to see how bad it is and whether you might have a concussion, and then from the looks of it, I'll need to give you some stitches." _

_Blaine who had been watching and listening in fear the entire time, sat bolt upright so quickly he became dizzy and practically collapsed back down again. "S-stitches?" he stammered in terror, trying to glance sideways at Burt and Kurt but it was clear it hurt too much to do so. "You're going to s-sew m-me up?" _

"_It's a very common and simple procedure, I promise," the doctor smiled kindly. "And it's not as bad as it sounds. I hear you've been very brave so far for the two nurses who were in here just now, so I'm going to need you to be brave for a little longer." _

_Burt glanced at Blaine and knew that the boy was just too tired to put up the pretence of being brave any longer. The confident façade the child usually put on fooled them all, and often, Burt found himself forgetting that he was younger than Kurt. He looked briefly at his son, who was now leaning tiredly into his side but still looking terrified at the prospect of Blaine 'being sewn up'. Doctor Matthews also appeared to have noticed this because he took one look at Kurt and stated softly. _

"_Mr Anderson, maybe you and your other son should wait outside." _

_There were many things wrong with this suggestion. The first one of course being that he was definitely not Mr Anderson but Burt found himself no bothering to contradict this; it was one thing to lie to the doctors, but it was another to just accept the information that took for granted. However, Kurt looked up in alarm and argued fiercely, "No! No, I'm not leaving him. W-We can't leave him, dad." He cried, turning to Burt for support. _

"_You'd be just outside." The friendly middle-aged doctor said gently to Kurt, although he looked slightly disconcerted that the young boy was about to cry. Clearly this doctor was not as good with kids as the two nurses had been. "It'll be over so quickly you won't even notice the time has passed."_

"_No." Kurt argued again, his stubborn streak appearing quickly, just as it always did when he was fiercely passionate about something. _

_Blaine was apparently aware of everything going on and several small tears started to make their way down his cheeks at hearing his best friend in distress. Whilst Kurt and Doctor Matthews exchanged a further few words of argument on both sides, Burt gently retook Blaine's hand and squeezed it in support. Blaine squeezed back, though only half-heartedly before he said quietly through his tears: _

"_I'll be okay, Kurt." _

_Kurt stopped his comeback at once and shot off his chair to Blaine's bedside, finally able to hug him tightly, though carefully avoiding his face, now that the nurses had gone. Burt let go of Blaine's hand and watched as the younger boy hugged back just as fiercely, clinging to the material of Kurt's jacket, clearly terrified but as usual, not wanting to cause a stir, or upset Kurt any further. Burt had to admit; he did not really want Kurt watching the process of stitches being sewn into the skin, because his little boy was already squeamish. It would be made ten times worse by the fact that it was Blaine enduring the stitches. _

"_But you're crying," Kurt said to Blaine softly, raising a hand to wipe away the other boy's tears. "You're scared." _

_Blaine gave a wobbly smile in return, looking up to meet Kurt's eyes sincerely. "Y-Yeah," he admitted shakily. "But I'll be okay, I promise." _

"_Dad and I will stay with you." Kurt objected, gripping both of Blaine's now clean hands tightly in his. _

_Blaine's faint smile grew a little stronger as he pointed out, "You hate needles, Kurt." He squeezed the other boy's hands reassuringly even though he still looked terrified. "You fainted when they gave us those tetanus jabs at school" When Kurt looked as if he was about to argue, he added, "and when your mom tried to teach us to sew and you caught your finger with the needle." _

_Kurt gave a watery chuckle and sniffed, eventually getting Blaine's point. Burt looked between them, as always, blown away by the unbreakable bond Kurt and Blaine seemed to share. It was like they were joined together by an invisible tether; hence Kurt being unwilling to leave Blaine at such a crucial time. _

"_Just…" Blaine whispered so that only Kurt, and Burt because of his eavesdropping, could hear. "Just… don't leave me? Please." There was such vulnerability in that plea that Kurt also began to start up with the tears again, but he smiled and nodded. "Y-You'll be right outside?" _

"_I promise." Kurt whispered fervently back. _

_Doctor Matthews smiled but his rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet gave away his impatience. Burt got to his feet and wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders, leading him away from the gurney, flashing Blaine a proud, but encouraging smile: _

"_It'll be alright, bud." He assured him softly, whilst Blaine gave a watery smile back and nodded. _

_Burt and Kurt had sat for almost half an hour outside the cubicle, Burt fidgeting awkwardly with his baseball cap, and Kurt staring miserably at the once-white hospital floor. Occasionally, the odd whimper of pain or a small sob would become audible from inside, causing Kurt's lip to tremble and Burt to wince. He put his hand on his son's shoulder but knew that it didn't really console him; he felt just as helpless as when Elizabeth was fading away from life in a hospital bed. But then he had been so distraught himself all he had only been able to offer Kurt was the odd hug or squeezing of the hand; it had been Blaine who mainly helped him through it. _

_After a while, Doctor Matthews popped his head outside the door of the cubicle to ask Burt to come in. That news did not sound good to either Burt or Kurt's ears; in fact, Kurt promptly started crying again, trying to get in past the doctor; however a kindly nurse was summoned by Matthews to sit and mind him whilst Burt returned inside the cubicle. _

_Blaine for the most part seemed to have got through the disinfecting of the wound without objection, as with the removing of the glass shards with tweezers. However it seemed that Doctor Matthews had been overeager with the talking and had started quizzing the poor boy on what had happened. Too tired and too stressed to cope with the lies, and too terrified to speak out against his father, Blaine had instead burst into tears which only quelled slightly when Burt came and gently held his head still whilst the doctor could finish applying the stitches without the boy thrashing around. Unfortunately, Matthews hadn't seemed to take a hint. _

"_Could you tell me how your son ended up this way?" he asked quietly, and as the middle-aged man looked up and stared slightly accusingly at him, he could tell the doctor thought he had been involved. He was correct that Blaine was undergoing domestic abuse; he just had the wrong man. Blaine let out a sob, and tried to move his head to look up at Burt but his head was still being held firmly still. _

_Burt hesitated and Matthews said slowly, "Do I need to call the police?" _

_Burt instantly felt extremely indignant. That was a threat if ever he had heard one, and it stung. He did not condone violence, nor had he ever done. And he especially did not think it was acceptable to behave that way towards a child, let alone Blaine, one of the sweetest kids he had ever known. _

"_Are you insinuating that I had something to do with this?" Burt growled, barely biting back a shout because he did not want Blaine to become even more upset. Also, Kurt would hear from outside and then there would be a commotion. Doctor Matthews looked up from his work and appeared slightly taken aback by Burt's ferocity. _

"_I was merely-"_

"_I have never laid a hand on a child, Doctor Matthews," Burt snapped. "If you're looking for someone to blame, I suggest you get someone to look up this boy's dad-" _

_Oops. _

_Blaine whimpered and his cries became louder and more agitated; Burt could not help but feel he had just betrayed the boy, especially Matthews looked up sharply with eagle eyes. _

"_You're not Blaine's father?" _

_Burt hesitated and then sighed. Now that the game was up, the only thing he could do was try and make the situation as best as he could for Blaine. "N-no." He admitted. "I'm Kurt's dad. Kurt is his best friend. We're neighbours." _

"_And you know that his father did this?" _

"_I… I think so, yes." _

_Doctor Matthews stared at him for a moment before finishing of the last stitch and completing his work. "I'll have someone contact the police once we're done." _

"_No." Blaine whimpered desperately. "Burt, please don't… don't let them-"_

_Burt's heart broke at seeing the child so distressed, "Look," he tried to reason with the doctor, who still focused his attention on finishing Blaine's stitches. "Let… let me handle it. I can at least call child protective services so that they can hear Blaine's side of the story… keep him safe." _

"_No!" Blaine cried, beginning to beg through his sobs. Once Matthews had released his head after his work's completion, and Burt's hold had weakened on him, the boy tried to sit up again. "Y… you can't call them. Please… don't call them. I-It wasn't him… I… slipped… and hit my head-" _

"_Blaine-" Burt tried to interrupt softly. _

"_- I… my dad wasn't in… th-that's why I went to Kurt's house. I-It wasn't my dad-"_

_Burt gently put a hand on the kid's shoulder, "I saw him in the window as we were leaving the house, bud," he stated softly. "With a beer bottle. Was he drunk?" _

"_N-no." Blaine tried, although Burt could tell he was lying. Blaine had always been a terrible liar. That was probably why Jonathan had got away with it so far; Blaine always just dodged around the question, and made himself appear happy and unfazed. There was no necessity to lie because no one ever asked him if he was okay. "Please Burt… don't call anyone… please." _

_Burt did not know what to do or to say in response to a ten-year-old kid, crying his little eyes out, with a stitched up scar running down the right side of his head, swelling over his right eye and bruises running up his arms, begging him to keep quiet about the fact that his father was an abusive monster. Yet Burt knew that even if he did nothing, Doctor Matthews would almost certainly do something. It was his obligation to do so. He had to take care of his patients, and Burt had to admit; if he was a doctor and he saw a banged up kid in the emergency room, completely distraught, he would want to get to the bottom of the matter. It was at times like these that he missed Elizabeth. She would have known what to do; she was always the voice of reason. _

"_Okay," Burt agreed quietly, much to the obvious horror of Doctor Matthews. "Okay, kiddo," he said soothingly, easing Blaine back into a lying position on the cot. "I won't call them…_for now_." He said the final two words under his breath, knowing that morally, he would have to call in some help eventually. Jonathan Anderson needed to be stopped. He would do it once they got home… if Matthews didn't do it first. He could already see the first signs of interference in the other man's eyes. _

"_Is he done now?" Burt asked, knowing that Blaine had gone through quite enough for one day, and it was now the early hours of the morning. Burt himself was exhausted so he hated to think how Kurt and Blaine were feeling. Both of them needed a nice, warm comfy bed – not a stiff, white plastic hospital waiting room chair or a rock hard gurney. "Can I take him home?" Despite his pretence that all was well, Blaine apparently could not help but sit up sharply, his eyes wide with terror, which in the both adults' eyes, was a giveaway if ever they saw one. "To my house? Can I take him home with Kurt and I?" Burt elaborated and the boy in front of him visibly relaxed. _

"_I don't think that's a good idea," Doctor Matthews said doubtfully, clearly wanting to get to the bottom of the matter of Blaine's home life. "He had a mild concussion which we should perhaps keep him in overnight to check." _

_Burt glanced at Blaine who looked conflicted either way. On the one hand, he was safe at the Hummels' but on the other, being in a hospital miles away from his father was also a pretty convincing incentive. Yet the place was strange, loud and smelly, full of people who asked difficult questions, and Burt could see from the way that Blaine kept pressing against his head that he had a killer of a headache. _

"_Have you got anything that he can take… for the pain… or the… concussion." He asked decisively, a little embarrassed at not really having the medicinal knowledge to know what Blaine needed. "I think right now he just needs a familiar, warm bed and a safe place."_

_Doctor Matthews sighed, and indicated that Burt should follow him outside. As soon as they exited the tiny cubicle, Kurt, who had been sitting in precisely the same gloomy position as before took it as his cue to get up and shoot inside to see Blaine. Burt half smiled before turning his full attention to the concerned doctor in front of him: _

"_I'd like to examine the boy further; maybe bring in a specialist." Doctor Matthews told him softly, so that the two boys inside the cubicle could not overhear the conversation. "I've seen my fair share of domestic abuse victims Mr…" he frowned, trying to recall if Burt had actually given his surname. _

"_Hummel." Burt provided shortly. _

"_- Hummel," Matthews added before continuing along his train of conversation. "The boy is distressed to even talk about how he ended up with that gash and a swollen eye; there are bruises on his arms and cuts that look as though they've been made by a leather belt. And regardless of what the boy wants, it is my job to report this."_

_Burt sighed, rubbing one eye tiredly, "Look," he said stressfully. "I...I know it's your job and I wholly agree that the right people need to be informed. But at least let me take him home; let him be with Kurt. He'll be more relaxed that way. Then maybe when he's less upset he can come in and be examined again. He's exhausted – you won't achieve anything except cause more damage if you do it now." Burt reasoned. _

_Matthews did not look altogether happy but eventually he sighed in compliance, "Okay. I'll get the nurse to fetch him something that'll help him sleep and numb the pain. The instructions will be on the bottle – he's under twelve so he won't be able to have a very high dosage."_

"_Right, thank you." Burt nodded in agreement, relieved. _

"_But I'm also going to contact child protective services straight after you leave." The doctor admitted in a no- nonsense tone that proved to Burt that he was not going to be moved on the matter. Burt did not blame the man; he would instantly do the exact same thing if it were not for the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that if he did so, then he would be betraying Blaine. "And I want him to come back here in two weeks," he told Burt, scribbling down something on the clipboard Burt had only just noticed he had been carrying. "to have a check-up and have the stitches removed." _

_Realising that Blaine's life was about to change drastically, as was Kurt's because his best friend would likely be moved into foster care outside of Lima, Burt sighed miserably but nodded. "Fine." _

_When the three of them eventually left the hospital, Burt not saying a word to either of the children about the conversation exchanged with Doctor Matthews, they were all exhausted. Kurt could barely keep his eyes open and shuffled his feet as they walked towards the car, whilst Blaine had already succumbed to sleep and was once again being carried by Burt. He settled them both inside the car and they drove back in silence. _

_Once they reached home, at Kurt's insistence, Burt placed Blaine in Kurt's bed, with his son directly next to him, and tucked the duvet over them. Within seconds of Kurt's head hitting the pillow, he was asleep, and Burt noted with a hint of a smile upon his face that Kurt's hand had automatically intertwined with Blaine's in sleep. Burt switched the bedroom light off and closed the door behind him. For an instant, Burt considered also going to bed, but it was now the early hours of the morning, and he had to set various affairs in order, such as ringing up Kurt's school and informing the secretary that he and Blaine would not be attending today, or calling his assistant manager, Tony, to tell him to open up shop and take charge for the day. So instead, Burt made himself a pot of strong black coffee and attended to these tasks. _

_Some hours later, he awoke on the sofa, having drifted off into a light snooze. Checking his watch, he realised that it was now mid-morning and Blaine would probably be needing to take some of the painkillers Doctor Matthews had prescribed him. Burt eased himself off the couch and ascended the stairs to check on the boys. It was a sweet sight to behold; even for a rather gruff man like Burt, who did not always know how to openly display his emotions. The two boys were still fast asleep, utterly exhausted from the night's events, their arms wrapped around one another in a source of comfort, whilst Blaine's injured head was tucked into the crook of Kurt's shoulder. In that moment, Burt could only feel thankful that these two kids had found companionship in each other, especially in a small, often rough town like Lima. _

_The word rough reminded Burt of Jonathan Anderson and his face immediately contorted in anger. He shut the door carefully behind him and travelled back downstairs to prepare Blaine's required medication. How long would it take for the police and child protective services to swoop down on Jonathan? Would the sorry excuse for a father even realise Blaine was gone after he awoke from an inevitable hangover? Was he even remotely sorry for what he had put his ten-year-old son through? Burt highly doubted the latter. He had just removed one tiny tablet from the prescription bottle, and filled half a glass of water to take up to Blaine when there was a sharp rap on the door. Frowning, Burt set the items he had been holding back onto the kitchen counter and stepped towards the door, trying to work out who could be calling at this hour. It only just dawned on him who it would be when he was halfway through opening the door. _

_Jonathan Anderson slammed the door open at his first opportunity, almost sending Burt flying. Burt was a fairly strong, well-built man, but physically he was in no position to take on his neighbour. Jonathan was almost the antithesis of Blaine: the boy was short and quite skinny, with dark curly hair, which was usually gelled back to perfection and striking amber eyes; Jonathan was tall and muscly with hours of gym sessions behind him, sporting short, straight brown hair and cold, dull grey eyes. Those dull grey eyes however could switch from cold to charming in a flash which was why the man was so good at conning people; or so Burt suspected. Now however, there was no false pretence of calmness or charm in those eyes; Jonathan was angry and there was no doubt about it. _

"_Where is he?" he demanded sharply of Burt, who attempted to push the dangerous-looking man back outside the door. "GET OFF ME, HUMMEL!" he bellowed furiously. "YOU GIVE MY SON BACK TO ME RIGHT NOW!" _

_Burt could have said he had no idea what Jonathan was talking about, but he did not bother. The other man had already seen him helping Blaine into the car and taking him to the hospital the night before. Burt had expected his neighbour to be angry, but not to this extent. He was beginning to see just how Blaine ended up with so many bruises, and he blocked Jonathan's entrance into the hallway. "You're no father to that kid, Anderson." Burt snapped right back. "You're not going near him, and you're certainly not going to hurt him again!" _

"_DON'T YOU DARE QUESTION HOW I RAISE MY SON!" Jonathan thundered, his face ramming against Burt's so that their noses were inches apart and Burt could feel saliva being spit onto his face, and smell the reeking stench of alcohol on the other man's breath._

"_You're out of control." Burt growled back, as calmly as he could manage. "You've been drinking Jonathan. Just go home and-"_

"_I'm not going anywhere without that little shit! Where is he?" _

"_Right now Anderson, you're in _my _house – _my _territory," Burt snapped, pushing Jonathan back towards the door, much to the fury of the other man. "And I demand that you leave immediately or I'll call the police!"_

_The taller, more muscular man seized hold of the front of Burt's flannel shirt threateningly, "And I'm not obeying your demands until I get back what is mine – my son!" _

"_Well you're not getting him!" Burt yelled back, finally losing his grip on patience, longing to punch this man in the jaw. _

_There was creak from upstairs, and Burt swore inwardly, realising that the commotion must have woken Kurt and Blaine. He prayed that Jonathan had not heard the sound too but apparently luck was not on his side; the other man raised his eyes briefly to the ceiling before pushing Burt roughly aside with terrifying force, and stomping up the stairs, each footstep ricocheting around the household. Burt charged after him without hesitation and watched as the oldest Anderson threw doors open in an attempt to find Blaine, finally slamming Kurt's open, spotting Blaine huddled terrified on the bed with Kurt, and stamping in. _

"_GET OUT OF BED WITH THAT BOY, YOU LITTLE FAG!" Jonathan bellowed, enraged and started towards Blaine. _

_Blaine had never looked so… un-Blaine before. If Burt had thought at the hospital that the boy looked vulnerable, then it was nothing compared to how he looked now. All the easy confidence and energy he usually radiated was gone; replaced with paralysing fear. His amber eyes were wide with fright, and he had never looked so small, with his tiny form shaking in terror, and his hands clinging on to Kurt for dear life. Kurt if possible, looked worse. He had never seen a person, let alone Jonathan Anderson, look so utterly furious, and he was trembling with such force that he looked as if he might pass out. Just as Jonathan was about to step towards the two boys, Burt slammed against him, pushing him into the bedroom wall. _

"_I said," Burt panted, keeping his hands pressed to Jonathan's crumpled dress shirt. "get out of my house! You will not touch them!" _

_Jonathan took no notice and even for the few moments he was being restrained by Burt, his eyes ere angry slits directed at Blaine. "How dare you call child protective services, you little shit!" he yelled at his son. "HOW DARE YOU TELL THEM YOU'VE BEEN MISTREATED!" Anderson struggled against Burt, who was pressing him with all his might against the wall, wishing either Kurt or Blaine would have the sense to get out and flee, but they seemed paralysed by fear. "YOU'VE BEEN ANYTHING BUT!"_

_Suddenly, Jonathan shoved Burt aside and hurtled towards Blaine, seizing him by the hair and pulling him away from Kurt, and off the bed. Poor Blaine let out a cry of pain as his father dragged him along by his already sore head. Kurt began to cry and tried to grab onto Blaine; in some way protect him from the terrifying monster before them, but Jonathan kicked him away. Kurt fell back onto the floor, momentarily halting in his crying as he was in shock. _

"_No!" Blaine cried, finally struggling against his father. "Don't hurt him! Kurt! Kurt, are you okay?!"_

_When Burt saw Jonathan kick Kurt to the floor and then slap Blaine hard as the boy tried to check that his friend was alright, he saw red. He took his son gently, but firmly by the hand and launched himself after Anderson, who was descending the stairs, yelling at Blaine, "You're lucky I've got friends in high places that called me and warned me early that these people were on their way. We're getting out now! I hope you're happy with yourself, because we have to move now! You're never going to see that boyfriend of yours again, you filthy little fag!" _

_Burt's stomach lurched and he saw the moment Blaine comprehended what his father was saying, because he suddenly began to struggle again, desperately trying to get away. "N… no. No please!" he whimpered. "Don't… don't… I can't leave Kurt! Please…" _

_Burt felt Kurt tug against his hand and realised that he had also heard what Jonathan had said, and was reaching for Blaine just as desperately. _

"_Let him go Jonathan!" Burt called to the other man, who was busy dragging his distressed, desperately flailing son by the hair. "I'm serious… I will call the police."_

_Jonathan suddenly stopped, a small, chilling smile spreading over his face. "And I'm serious about _this_ Hummel." he snapped. "When it comes down to it – who are people going to believe? A small-time car store owner who dresses in rags, or an honest, hard-working lawyer who works for a well-respected law firm."_

"_You're anything but honest, Anderson!" Burt growled, stepping forwards and reaching for Blaine's hand. "That's why you're planning to run away now." _

_Jonathan watched as Burt tried to grab hold of Blaine's hand and tugged his son back a further few inches, eking a small, sharp whimper out of him. "If you take _my_ son now, or even try to come after us," he threatened in a dangerously quiet tone. "then you'll lose _yours_." _

_Burt stopped instantly, the colour draining from his face. He knew full well that it could be an empty threat, but Jonathan did have friends in high places and… and Kurt was his world. Jonathan smiled triumphantly as he realised that he had finally found Burt's weakness. "That's right." He continued. "I may be leaving but I leave behind friends who have the power to… let's just say… take action. So if I mentioned that you took my son and refused to give him back… planted this wound on his poor little head," he indicated the stiches Blaine had received at the hospital and Burt felt sick. "so that he needed to be taken to hospital… lied to the doctors there… I suspect that if you weren't arrested then you'd have your precious little fag here taken away from you. Either way… if you don't let us go now… then you lose him – the only person you have left after your wife died." _

_Burt felt cold and sick. This was not a bluff. Jonathan Anderson did unfortunately have associates with the power to do just that, and in that moment, he stupidly forgot about the one factor: if Anderson had the power already to turn this around on him, then why was he running away? Yet, in his panic, Burt completely forgot about this important factor. All he could think about were the mental images Jonathan was placing in his mind: Kurt would be left without a parent – his baby boy would be alone. Burt looked heartbrokenly at poor little Blaine who had already suffered so much; who in that moment was struggling with all his might against his father's grip, screaming 'Kurt!' and something that sounded like 'I love you!' over and over, occasionally stretching to look up at him pleadingly, but the sound appeared muted; clogged up almost as if the scene was taking place underwater, and his silent begging went unanswered. Kurt was also trying to get away from him; attempting to run after Blaine as finally, with one last smug smile, Jonathan hurled himself and his son through the door. Burt just stood there, devastated, ashamed and shell-shocked, holding back a distressed and angry Kurt, trying to formulate some sort of a plan. It took too long. By the time, he finally collected his thoughts and ran outside after Blaine, the Anderson house was locked and dark, and their car was gone. _

Carole stared at Burt, tears dribbling down her cheeks as her partner buried his head into his hands in shame, not able to look at her or Blaine, who still lay silent and battered in the hospital bed before them. Silence filled the room for a few moments; the only sound audible being the machine hooked up to the saline drip which gurgled ever so often to show that liquids was successfully being emptied into Blaine's body.

"I failed him Carole." Burt eventually whispered brokenly, his voice muffled as he spoke into his hands. "That poor boy was being dragged from my home… being abused right there in front of me and he… he screamed for help… and I just stood there. I just fucking stood there and did nothing."

Carole winced at the deadened tone to his voice, and his violent use of a swear word – again, a sign of how upset Burt was. He was still the kindest, most honourable man she had ever known, and he had made a mistake – a rather big one for Blaine, but it had haunted him all these years. And at least initially he had tried to stop it. And later he had tried to make it right. She reached forward and gently placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, so that he automatically looked up at her.

"Burt, you were scared," she said so simply and softly, that Burt marvelled at how he just did not deserve a woman as kind and caring as Carole. "Kurt was your life. You had only lost Elizabeth a few years before, and you were terrified of losing Kurt as well. You were afraid of failing him."

"So I failed Blaine instead?" Burt sniffed incredulously, and impatiently brushed a few stray tears away. As always, the darling man was embarrassed to show he was crying, Carole thought. "That doesn't make it right."

Carole's hand drifted down his arm towards his right hand and she held it tightly in support. "No, but you tried to make it right." She argued softly, smiling encouragingly at him. "At first you tried to stop Jonathan, and afterwards, you tried searching for Blaine. You tried Burt… that counts for something."

Burt snorted, his eyes raising to look over Blaine's bruised, sleeping, but pained face, "It was so stupid. I let Blaine go because I was afraid of losing Kurt due to Jonathan's power… the power his so-called friends at his company had. But the truth was… calling child protective services was only the half of it. The police were already after him for laundering money. His company – that oh so respected law firm had gone bust and was stealing people's money left right and centre. That was why they were running away. Blaine's abuse being revealed to the doctor's and child protective services was the last straw. If I hadn't given up Blaine, Jonathan couldn't have done anything. Blaine would have been safe and so would Kurt. I was so stupid-"

"Burt, stop that." Carole told him firmly, squeezing his hand lightly to emphasise her point, and so that Burt would look back at her. He did and she smiled softly, "You didn't know that. You didn't know Jonathan's company had gone bust… you didn't know he had no case against you. Losing a child is a parent's worst fear," she squeezed his hand once again as some of the pain cleared from Burt's features, and she knew she was getting through to him. "I can understand that. If I had been in the same situation, with those threats against me and Finn, then I have to admit that I'd probably have done the same."

"Kurt always resented me for it." Burt said sadly.

"Oh Burt," Carole whispered softly, in such a tone as if it was obvious, "Kurt _loves_ you."

"I know he does." Burt responded quickly, clearly frustrated at not knowing how to communicate what he meant. "Oh no… no, I'm not saying he doesn't. And I love him so much too. He means… everything. I just… I know that he never quite forgave me for not going after Blaine."

"And you never forgave yourself." Carole finished.

"No." Burt agreed. He turned back towards Blaine's pale and sleeping form, and a spark of determination returned to his kind, but stubborn eyes. "But he's home now. Blaine's home, and this time, I'm _not_ letting him go." Carole's heart swelled with pride for the man she loved and she watched Burt let out a heavy sigh, before smiling at her, "Thank you." He whispered quietly, kissing her hand briefly, before letting their intertwined hands fall back down to his knee.

"No problem," she replied tenderly, before releasing his hand and getting to her feet. When Burt turned and looked at her in surprise, and a little bewilderment, she explained, "I'm going to talk with the doctors and see if Blaine's full examination results have come back yet."

Burt frowned, "_Full_ examination results?"

Carole's expression turned grave as she said as gently as possible, as if to lessen the blow, "They had to perform a rape kit on him – just to make sure nothing awful was passed on. And they wanted to make sure there was no internal bleeding or any injuries other than a broken arm and well… the obvious."

At Carole's words, the situation became even more real, thus exacerbating Burt's already pained expression. Carole leaned forward and kissed him gently, just to provide the poor man with some reassurance that he was not alone in this. Burt tried his best to smile as she pulled away, but he suspected it appeared outwardly as more of a grimace.

"Would you like me to call McKinley and get someone to take Kurt out of lessons and bring him here?" Carole asked tentatively, knowing that the worst was to come. Kurt needed to be told, because from what Burt had recounted, her stepson and the poor boy lying in the hospital bed had been incredibly, almost inexplicably close. There was no telling how Kurt, who was already one of the most sensitive people Carole had ever met, would react to such news.

"No… thank you." Burt rejected the idea gently, because he knew Kurt had to hear it from him. "I'll… I'll do it soon. I just… need a few minutes."

Carole nodded in understanding, squeezing his arm briefly, before heading towards the door, "I'll call Finn then – he can drive Kurt over here whenever he's ready."

Her shocked and guilt-ridden partner simply nodded in response, and silently she left the room. Burt felt numb. Just over two hours ago, he had been sitting in his office completing a stack of paperwork and pondering the prospect of food, all of which now seemed completely null and void. He had not woken up this morning thinking that he was going to come face to face with Blaine Anderson; not that it was a bad thing. He was incredibly happy to have Blaine back with them – both he and Kurt had missed the boy so much over the years; he just wished their reunion could have occurred under happier circumstances. Blaine's condition and sudden appearance had all sorts of questions whizzing around Burt's stressed mind such as: why had Blaine most likely been living on the streets? What bastard had dared commit such a horrific act towards the boy? And where the hell was Jonathan?

At that moment, Blaine's pained, sleeping face contorted slightly, his brows furrowing as he let out a small whimper and tossed around in the bed, as if fighting half-heartedly against the demons in his nightmares. Just as he had that night in the hospital, Burt automatically reached out and squeezed the boy's hand in his soothingly. It was as if Blaine had sensed the gently contact because just as quickly as his sudden change in state had occurred, it stopped and Blaine returned to a relatively peaceful sleep. His eyes sweeping over the malnourished boy once more, Burt kept a hold of his hand, to reassure himself more than the boy in the bed, and tried to formulate some sort of plan of action. At some point within the next hour or so, he would have to call Kurt, and he had not idea how he was going to explain such a deed to Kurt. The kid was only seventeen, and Blaine was even younger. How in any way were they equipped to deal with this? Burt could not even begin to comprehend what Blaine would be feeling when he eventually woke up. The poor kid had been traumatised when they had entered the ER that night six years ago – from a head wound that could be remedied from a few simply stiches. How was he going to react when he woke up and remembered he had been… raped? From what he remembered, Blaine liked to hide behind a confident façade; he had only ever let Kurt past these barriers, but after not seeing each other for nearly six years, would he even be able to talk to Kurt? Things were bound to be awkward between them to begin with. So much had happened.

The matter of where Blaine would go was obvious; he would come back home with them. Thankfully, they had a spare room free, which Kurt had commandeered at present for extra outfit space, but Burt knew he would happily give it up for Blaine. Hopefully, Blaine would be able to tell them something of Jonathan's whereabouts and Burt would attempt to contact the despicable man, because regardless of how much he hated the man, Jonathan was still Blaine's guardian.

Burt checked once more that Blaine was sleeping relatively peacefully, before getting up from his chair shakily, taking out his phone from his overalls and stepping outside the room to initiate the hardest phone call he had ever had to make.

**Next chapter: Blaine wakes up and Kurt finally knows. Please let me know what you think. I hope this chapter was okay. **


	4. Chapter 4

**As per usual, this is longer than I expected so I had to cut it in half - this is the 1st half of what I've written, and I've nearly finished the second half. It's probably better that I finished where I have for the moment anyway because this chapter it pretty angsty, and I didn't want it to become too emotionally draining. Hopefully you like this anyway. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story so far. **

History: the greatest lesson ever if you had a late night and wanted to catch up on some much needed sleep. After all, what could you possibly miss that you couldn't just read up on later? History certainly wasn't going anywhere; it had already happened. It certainly did not help that their teacher, Mr Jacobs was as dull as ditch water, and maintained a monotonous speaking voice which could lull even the greatest of insomniacs to sleep. Who needed sound recordings of gentle waves or dolphins? Mr Jacobs also had a habit of getting them to just bullet point facts out of a textbook, or paraphrase extracts into a few sentences which would later be used as 'revision' for the exam later in the year. It was not exactly the most enthralling lesson plan, and most days, Kurt kept half a mind on the subject and the other half on doodling potential fashion designs in his leather-bound notebook, a habit which he just had not been able to give up over the years.

That was on an ordinary day. Today, it was much worse. Apparently Mr Jacobs had contracted the dreaded influenza virus spreading round school, and had forcibly been confined to his home by Principal Figgins. Normally, this could be considered a relatively interesting prospect – the cover teacher might actually get round to _teaching_ them something. Yet this particular supply teacher was just plain… bizarre. Miss Holly Holliday, a bright woman, probably between her thirties and forties, with keen, shiny eyes, long blonde hair and a jokey, yet often a discomfort-inducing sense of humour was currently dressed in period clothing and declaiming the weirdest stuff about cucumbers and STDs. Wait… _what_? Kurt, who had zoned out for a good few minutes, suddenly became extremely aware of the reactions of the class around him, particularly Finn and Mercedes who were now apparently anxious about catching STDs from eating cucumber. Kurt rolled his eyes slightly; he loved his friend Mercedes dearly, and he even loved Finn in a brotherly way, but the idea that you could catch an STD from a piece of salad was ridiculous. He could only hope that the lesson ended soon; catching Mercedes eye and smiling slightly, Kurt returned to his doodling.

A few minutes later, he looked up curiously when Miss Holliday's impersonations of various historical figures halted and silence came over the room. Miss Pillsbury, the school guidance counsellor hovered there nervously. In fact, at closer observation, she looked even more nervous than usual. Miss Pillsbury, though she was supposedly a guidance counsellor, was a quiet, soft-spoken woman, with the widest doe-like eyes anyone could ever imagine, and due to her obsessive compulsive disorder, which she made no attempt to hide, she constantly looked scared or nervous at the world around her. Kurt's eyebrows formed a small frown as he contemplated why she could possibly look even more anxious, and so was quite nervous himself when Miss Pillsbury's eyes fell on him.

"Excuse me," she directed politely at Miss Holliday, her wide eyes still resting on him. "Could I please borrow Kurt?"

Kurt blanched as he felt all of his classmates' eyes fall on him, some students turning in their seats to stare at him intriguingly. He decided to stare back at some of them to show he act as though he wasn't fazed by this sudden surprise, however internally, Kurt was just as intrigued, if not at little scared. Miss Pillsbury still had that frightened look in her eyes which she did not like, and his mind was working furiously, mulling over why he could possibly be being fetched out of class by Emma Pillsbury. Miss Holliday however did not seem in the least deterred from the fact that her lesson had been interrupted and continued with her usual cheery, snarky humour:

"Sure, would you like him gift wrapped?"

The guidance counsellor finally looked away from Kurt and frowned slightly at Miss Holliday, as the class let out a few titters of amusement. Kurt took that moment to ignore the supply teacher, glance once at a curious-looking Mercedes and gather his books back into his shoulder bag.

"Look, I'm just kidding Ella-" Miss Holliday continued cheerfully.

"Actually, it's Emma." Miss Pillsbury corrected her, a small blush rising in her cheeks as more titters erupted from the class.

"Okay," Miss Holliday replied, taking everything in her stride and Kurt found her a little too happy for the seemingly serious situation. "Off you go Kurt," she said, although he had already risen from his seat and was halfway to the door. "And next time, don't be afraid of participating in the discussion."

Kurt just smiled blandly and exited the room thankfully with Miss Pillsbury. The wide-eyed woman flashed him a smile as they began to walk along the corridor, but it was clear that she was forcing it.

"What's going on?" Kurt asked quickly, deciding that he would have to ask, because she was clearly not about to explain anything soon.

Emma looked at him nervously for a moment before replying, "Your father's been trying to contact you-"

"My phone's been off all morning," Kurt explained, frowning and wondering why his dad needed to speak to him this urgently. What was going on? Had something awful happened? "My teachers get really ratty if it goes off in the middle of a lesson."

Miss Pillsbury gave him a kind smile, "Your dad's ringing from the hospital – he's on the phone in Principal Figgin's office right now-"

"_What_?" Kurt panicked, his voice rising dramatically in pitch, as his heart plummeted to the ground. He felt himself begin to automatically shake, and it was only a small part of his brain forcing him to walk onwards down the corridor and not let his knees buckle. "_The hospital_? Why is he ringing from the hospital? What's happened? Is he okay?"

Emma raised her hands to silence him, although she still looked troubled. "Kurt, I promise that your father is fine-"

"Is it Carole?" he demanded, and then frowned. No wait… if it was Carole, then Finn would surely be here too. "What's going on?" he finally asked desperately, panic overwhelming him now; his heart beating so rapidly he was sure it was about to leap out of his chest and start performing Riverdance in the school hallway. He was just very thankful for the fact that they were now a mere few metres away from Principal Figgins' office.

"I'm sure your father will explain everything in a minute." Emma reassured him gently, and he almost would have been comforted by her soft tone, had it not been for the fact that she still looked anxious. She stopped suddenly and nodded pointedly at something. Kurt followed her gaze and realised that they had arrived at the Principal's office, and from what he could see through the glass panes, the man himself had vacated his office in order to give Kurt some space. The phone had been placed face down on the desk, waiting patiently for him to answer, yet now he was here, Kurt almost did not want to know why his dad was at the hospital. What if it was really bad news? Emma had pretty much ruled out that his dad had been hurt, and Kurt was convinced that Carole was not the subject of the phone call because otherwise, Finn would be here alongside him. Kurt racked his brain, trying to think of any immediate family he might have that could potentially be ailing. Perhaps his grandfather – his dad's father, not his mother's – Elizabeth Hummel's parents both died when she was in her mid-twenties in a particularly vicious car accident. But Kurt had not seen his dad's father – his only remaining grandparent – in over a year. He had disconnected himself from Burt and Kurt out of disgust when Kurt finally revealed that he was gay. Burt, who had never been very close to his father anyway, stated passionately to an at-the-time, very tearful Kurt that it was no great loss – he would rather have his son any day. Yet Kurt knew with certainty that his dad was a good, _good_ man, and if his estranged father was dying or hurting in any way, he would at once rally around his bedside and do his best to help, despite their differences.

Kurt suddenly realised that his mind was subconsciously delaying the moment in which he would have to pick up the phone and discover the truth behind the phone call, even though he had more or less assured himself that it was probably to do with his grandfather. He was, after all, with the exception of Burt, the only blood relation he had left. He glanced warily at Miss Pillsbury who flashed him a gentle smile:

"I'll be right out here if you need anything." She informed him softly.

Kurt tried to flash her a grateful smile in return, but he was too worked up over the phone call to put any real effort in, even though he was truly grateful for the woman's support. There were not many people who supported him at McKinley High, and there were even fewer who accepted him for who he was – Emma Pillsbury was one of a mere handful. Slowly, he made his way into the empty office and closed the door behind him, wanting to maintain some degree of privacy. Finally, he walked swiftly over to the awaiting phone and put it to his ear.

"Dad?"

"_Kurt_." Sounded his dad's voice; he sounded tight, nervous and quite breathless. This could not be good news. "_There you are – I've been trying to reach you on your phone but-_"

"The teachers insist that we turn them off whilst we're in lessons." Kurt explained quickly before demanding urgently. "What's going on, dad? Miss Pillsbury said you were at the hospital. Are you and Carole okay? Is it grandpa – is he sick?"

He reeled off all of these questions in record timing, all in one breath and Kurt was quite impressed that Burt not only managed to remember all of them, but provide swift answers as well. "_Bud, I'm fine_," he promised quickly. "_And so is Carole, and as far as I know – well, I haven't heard anything anyway – grandpa is fine as well._"

"Then why are you at the hospital?" Kurt asked desperately, now more than a little confused.

Burt's breath audibly hitched and there followed a long pause, as if he was trying to figure out what to say next. After what felt like an hour to Kurt, but in reality could only have been less than a minute, Burt said slowly, "_Something happened this morning… while Carole was on her way to work, she saw… she…_" he broke off, apparently struggling to voice what had happened.

"Dad, you're really scaring me now." Kurt said softly, his eyes wide with panic. Burt's sudden inability to speak his mind did nothing for Kurt's already hammering heart. "Please, just tell me what's going on."

He heard Burt sigh, take a deep breath and whisper hoarsely, "_We've found Blaine_."

Kurt felt the bottom instantly drop from his stomach, and as he sensed his knees beginning to buckle, he gripped onto the desk for support, lowering himself into Principal Figgins' chair. The world was swimming before him – this had to be a dream. It was a sentence he had only dreamt of hearing his dad say for six years, and now that the words had been uttered, he could not bring himself to believe they were really true. Blaine. _His_ Blaine. The boy he thought about every day; his one true constant when facing up to another day at school where the terrifying Karofsky would loom over him and make each day a misery. The boy who had been forcibly dragged from his life and had seemingly disappeared from existence; his best friend… had finally been found? No… this must be a mistake… there must be a catch somewhere. Life was never this good to him.

The image of he and Blaine sitting together closely on the tyre swing in the photograph in his locker swam instantly to the forefront of his mind. Gorgeous amber, almost hazel eyes, sleekly gelled-back curly hair, a cheeky, infectious grin, boundless energy – all memorable features of Blaine Anderson, the wonder boy who had loved and cared about him; been his friend even at personal cost to him. And then there were the images of a different Blaine; the one that only he ever saw. The one who would finally let the tears fall when they were alone, because his dad had hit him, or yelled at him, or when Jonathan had really been off his head with drugs and booze, he had thrown heavy objects at him, and burned Blaine's skin with the stubs of cigarettes. But the last time Kurt had seen Blaine was the worst time of all, because he saw the damage first hand, straight after the blows had occurred, and his best friend had been at his most vulnerable. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut as he desperately tried to shut out memories of Blaine's bleeding face, and of Jonathan dragging Blaine from the house by his hair.

"_Kurt?_" Burt was saying softly, and Kurt quickly zoned back into the conversation, realising how concerned his dad was sounding. He must have been silent for a good minute. "_Are you there, bud? Can you hear me?" _

It took a couple of tries for Kurt to find his voice again, "Yeah… yeah, I'm here, dad. I can hear you." Suddenly, his mind further processed the words Burt had spoken and connected them with the fact that Burt was at the hospital. Oh God… please no. "Wait… dad… what do you mean 'you've _found_ Blaine'?" he demanded, panicked.

Kurt became aware of shaky breathing on the other end of the phone, and he was instantly terrified. "_Kiddo…"_ Burt began hoarsely, before yet another lengthy hesitation. "_When… when Carole was driving to work this morning… she saw… there was… there was a person… injured… lying just inside Queen's Park… a boy…"_

Kurt instantly felt tears begin to leak down his cheeks; his body automatically accompanying them with wracking shakes. It took him a moment to realise he was crying… sobbing. "Oh God, dad," he cried desperately. "Please… please no."

"_Oh, bud_." Burt whispered miserably, his voice breaking with the strain of having to recount what had happened on top of hearing his son cry.

"What's happened to him, dad?" Kurt asked, quickly becoming hysterical, furiously swiping at the tears coursing down his cheeks. It was strange how swiftly a person could become hysterical, although admittedly, Blaine was the topic of conversation. Sweet, kind, warm-hearted Blaine had been hurt, and that was truly something to get upset over. "Was it Jonathan? How bad is it?" Terrible possibilities assailed Kurt's mind all at once. "Please… please… he's not… he's not dea-"

"_No!_" Burt informed him sharply at this final question. "_Oh no… no, I promise you he's not dead, Kurt. I'm right here with him. He's not dead, thank heavens…"_

Kurt sniffed, breathing a slight sigh of relief before adding sadly, "There's a 'but', isn't there?"

Burt took another audible deep breath, "_Kurt, I really need you to try and be brave, okay buddy? For me, for yourself and especially for Blaine._"

Kurt let out another loud sob and hiccupped because Burt's word had just confirmed that something awful had happened. It took a couple of minutes for him to process and obey his dad's plea, sucking in long, soothing, and glorious breaths of air to calm himself down. "O…okay." He eventually nodded, although his chin was still trembling as a result of keeping his tears behind fragile barriers.

Burt, who had been waiting patiently for his son to calm down, continued in a hoarse voice that didn't sound much more controlled than Kurt's, "_It… it looks like Blaine has been… living on the streets for… a while… months, maybe… he had nothing on him except… well… the clothes he was wearing-_"

Kurt let out another horrified, spasmodic sob, but covered it well with his hand, blocking the sound from travelling through the receiver. Blaine had been living on the streets? Why? What had that monster, Jonathan, done?

"_He… He's malnourished… and underweight so… so he can't have been eating much… if at all-"_

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and continued to sob occasionally into his hand, where Burt would not hear it. Suddenly, Burt paused again, and Kurt just knew that the worst was yet to come.

"D…Dad?" he stuttered desperately, clinging to the desk in front of him for dear life.

He heard Burt release something halfway between strangled sob and a sigh before he continued, "_This morning, Blaine was… attacked… probably in Queen's Park."_ This time, Kurt could not smother the sob that escaped his lips. Not Blaine. It couldn't be Blaine who had been attacked. Burt paused, clearly pained from hearing his son's reaction, but he had to give him the rest of the news. "_The kid was… was probably too exhausted to even put up much of a fight. He… he was… assaulted… sexually… he was… raped._"

Kurt's heart stopped; the tears carried on in full flow, but his entire body felt numb. He lost all feeling in his fingers and the phone slipped easily from his sweaty hand, dropping loudly onto the desk, but Kurt didn't wince. In fact, he sat stock still for a moment, knowing that if he moved then he would throw up into the nearest trashcan or faint onto the floor, and Principal Figgins probably would not appreciate either of those actions. He tried to comprehend his dad's words, but they just kept getting all muddled in his suddenly fuzzy mind. The world was swimming before him again and all he could think of was the bright, dapper, confident young boy in the photo; the one with the dazzling hazel eyes and the cheeky, yet charming smile. That image did not fit with the one Burt had just painted, and he certainly could not think of Blaine… hurt in such a way. Rape. His precious Blaine had been forced to undergo… rape. It had to be the wrong boy. It just… had to be. Truthfully, Kurt did not know a lot about sex – he refused to. Each time his dad would broach the subject of 'the talk', he would clamp his hands over his ears and loudly sing something… anything. He just wasn't ready to know _everything_ yet. But he knew that to have someone do something so intimate with you… with your body, against your will, must be absolutely soul-destroying and terrifying and… painful. Oh God… Kurt could not even stand to think of Blaine in so much agony. What if Blaine had had his first time stolen from him? Oh please no…

He tried to take long, soothing breaths to calm himself, but each time he re-envisioned Blaine in such a state as his dad had described, he fell apart again, sobbing into his hands, shaking like a leaf. Even though he had dropped the phone, Kurt could still hear his dad trying to desperately reclaim his attention. He attempted to be brave, just as Burt had asked him, but pieces of information, memories and questions were whizzing at light speed around his head like there was no tomorrow. Why had Blaine been out on the streets in the first place? Where had he been all these years? Why had he only just returned to Lima? How would he look when Kurt eventually joined his dad at the hospital? What monster had done this to him? Had he changed? Was he a different person? Would he remember Kurt after all these years? Would Blaine even want to see him? Blaine's life had clearly changed for the worse, and Kurt hated to think how the younger boy would react to something like this. He would be… 15 years-old – sixteen in a few months time, Kurt calculated, not even thinking twice about the fact that he still remembered Blaine's birthday after six years of being apart. Kurt was seventeen and wouldn't even begin to be able to cope after experiencing such a thing. His small town problems of David Karofsky and the rest of his high school bullies seemed so… childish and distant now.

After a good few minutes, Kurt eased his tears and shaking enough to be able to grip the phone back in his hand and place it back next to his ear, listening to his dad repeatedly asking, "_Kurt?_"

"I'm here, dad." He sniffed in a small, croaky voice, and he heard his dad sigh in relief.

"_I know it's… it's awful and… difficult to come to terms with, bud_," Burt sympathized gently, sounding more upset than ever. "_But… but we've got to think about how… devastated he's going to be when he comes round."_

"He's not awake?" Kurt asked, his heart continuing to shatter into millions of pieces.

"_No… he was… in pretty bad shape, according to Carole_," Burt admitted slowly, as if ever word was causing him pain. "_She found him, brought him in and then called me. The doctors have sedated him for the moment._"

"I want to see him, dad." Kurt declared decisively, trying to make his voice stronger, even though he still felt like running into the toilets and crying some more. "I… need to see him. Do…" he said, voicing his fears. "Do you think he'd even want to see me… after… everything he's been through and… after such a long time?"

There was a paused, "_He asked for you, bud… before he passed out_." Burt answered softly, but the words still impacted Kurt hard. "_Carole said he kept asking for you. You… and me_." Kurt swallowed, and he could not help but allow his heart to swell a little. Blaine had asked specifically for him, even after all this time. Had Kurt meant as much to him as he had to Kurt after all?

"Dad, I need to see him." he repeated firmly, his voice slowly growing in strength, and he was thankful that he had finally stopped shaking.

"_I know,"_ Burt agreed, and were it not for the seriousness of the situation, Kurt could have sworn he could hear a slight smile in his dad's tone. "_Carole's tried contacting Finn to drive you over here, but I don't think he's answering either._"

"He was in my class just now – I'll go and get him." Kurt informed his father, rounding the conversation to an end, but before he could bid Burt farewell, the man said softly, and gravely:

"_I just… need you to be aware, buddy… Blaine really isn't… isn't in a good way. He's badly beaten and he'll probably act… differently when he wakes up. It might just… shock you… and upset you and I need you to be prepared._"

Kurt swiped furiously at his tears again, and straightened, determined to keep strong now... his oldest friend needed him. He would be there for Blaine now just as the other boy had been there for him countless times before. "O…Okay, dad." He replied quietly. "I'll see you soon."

"_Love you, bud_." Burt murmured quietly.

"Love you too, dad." Kurt sniffed, somehow finding unbelievable comfort in just those three words from his dad.

"_See you soon_." Burt responded softly, affection in his voice. "_Chin up, okay?_"

"Are you going to take your own advice?" Kurt countered in a lacklustre attempt at trying to add some normality to a devastating situation.

"_We'll see_." Burt answered quietly, and together father and son placed the receiver down at their respective ends of the phone.

Kurt sniffed once more and scrubbed at his face, even though it was fruitless to cover up that he had been crying. He always had bright red puffy eyes when he had been sobbing for any length of time, and regardless of how much he would now try to hide it when he stepped out into the school corridor to meet an waiting Miss Pillsbury to fetch Finn from class, the crying would be obvious. In the last three quarters of an hour he had taken in more information than his mind could take, but there was one thought – one person that kept him going; the same person who always kept him going through thick and thin. Blaine. Although in such horrible circumstances, he was going to see Blaine Anderson for the first time in six long years.

* * *

Blaine felt consciousness pulling at him from every direction and he fought with all his might to return to blissful sleep. He felt warm and cosy enveloped in darkness and wrapped snugly in what felt like a cotton blanket. Despite his disorientation and desire to slip back into dreamless unconsciousness, he found himself automatically questioning the term 'cotton blanket'. He did not remember owning a cotton blanket; he was sure he owned an ordinary duvet. As his ears became more attuned to the sounds around him, he almost recoiled as a constant, steady rhythm of deafening bleeps disrupted his silent bliss. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sound to go away, whatever it was. Yet, no matter how much he wished it to stop, the bleeping kept ringing on and on, until it made his head hurt. Now that he came to think about it, he realised that his head did genuinely ache, and the sharp noises only aggravated it more. Please, he thought desperately, he just wanted the deafening noise to stop. He was so tired and he just wanted to sleep. Sleep had been good. Sleep had been painless.

Growing increasingly frustrated at the bleeping noises now, he tried to cover his ears with his hands to block out the incessant sound. A sudden, sharp, searing pain travelled through his right hand as he attempted to move it, and he automatically let out a loud whimper in reaction. Why did it hurt like that? Again, he tried to angle his arm towards his right ear, and the already searing pain grew worse, as if someone was stabbing his hand repeatedly with a very large needle. Blaine tried very hard not to panic, and decided to move his left arm instead… except he couldn't. He felt hot tears force themselves up into his still closed eyes, and the familiar knot in his stomach and chest that told him that he actually was panicking. Why? Why could he not move his left arm? He attempted the task again, but his arm just felt like a dead weight; as if it was too heavy for his body – almost as if someone had forcibly pinned it to his side so he couldn't move it.

Blaine's chin began to tremble as he grew increasingly confused in his still groggy, disorientated state. He could not move his left arm, his right hand descended into agony each time he tried to move it, and his head was throbbing so painfully it felt like someone was smashing his skull into a solid wall. What was happening? What was wrong with him? Blaine instead concentrated on attempting to move his lower body. This time, he released a scream of distress as his ankles, thighs and backside burned with agony; his skin felt raw and scalded as if it was on fire. He silently began to cry, utterly terrified as he questioned his pain-ridden state. Why did everything hurt so badly? Why couldn't he move his left arm? Why did he suddenly feel so unbearably hot? Why wouldn't that bleeping noise just stop? Why did his backside and between his legs hurt so much? Why did he feel raw pain running throughout every inch of himself?

Blaine was now about as far away from sleep as anyone could possibly get. Utterly petrified, he decided it might be time to open his eyes because that might help him assess what was going on. Slowly, ever so slowly, he eased his eyes open, closing them almost immediately when flashes of unbearably bright light assaulted his vision. Gritting his teeth to try to stop himself from crying, he tried once again. It was not so bad this time, and he managed to keep his eyes open against the shockingly bright light, even if they were reduced to mere slits.

The first thing he saw was a plain white ceiling, and a plain white wall directly above and in front of him. Blaine frowned, despite the tears now running freely from his eyes down his cheeks – he did not remember ever living anywhere with a white wall. Now he was growing frustrated at the fact that he couldn't seem to stop crying, and it pained him that he was unable to just reach his hands up to stop the tears. So instead he focused on the information in front of him. White… white ceiling… white wall. Everything was too bright and white – wait… was… was he dead? Had he died? Was this place heaven… or hell… or even purgatory? The bleeping sent a splintering paint through his aching head once more, thus prompting him to turn and search for the source of the sound. Every inch Blaine moved his head, the pain evolved along with it, stemming from his head and flaring up through his entire body until the burning sensation arose in his lower body again. He yelped amongst his silent sobs until he caught sight of the object from which the sound was emitting. It was a machine, and he had certainly seen it before. Blaine tried to desperately recall where he had seen that machine; it made a frustratingly loud guzzling noise, accompanied by beeps at a steady rhythm every few seconds or so, and hooked in place next to it was a transparent packet of liquid. His eyes followed the line of tubing connected to the liquid bag until he saw it disappear into his right hand. Suddenly, it made sense why it hurt to move his right hand. There was a needle clearly pinning the tubing into his right hand, so that each time he tried to move it, the needle pierced his skin.

Blaine screwed his eyes tight shut once more as he attempted to concentrate, despite his distress. He had seen this before; he had seen the machines, and he vaguely recalled plain white walls as well. Plus, memories of those incessant bleeping and guzzling sounds were beginning to assail his mind, and he desperately tried to remember where he knew them from. Blaine tried to suck in a deep, soothing breath through his nose, in an attempt to calm himself, only to find he was inhibited in this as well. It was only now that he felt something akin to plastic blocking the passage into each of his nostrils. On the one hand, this seemed to be feeding him air when he was not conscious of its presence, but on the other, when he concentrating on actually taking a breath manually, he began coughing and spluttering. As he wheezed against the force of the coughs, Blaine felt yet more spasms of pain erupting down his body, and he could not help but cry a little louder. He just wanted it all to stop.

Yet even with the plastic threading into his nostrils, he was able to make out quite a distinct smell. He knew that smell as well – it was… like a cleaning agent of some kind… chlorine maybe… antiseptic? It was certainly clinical – like the stuff they used his hospitals. Blaine's eyes flew open, and suddenly everything clicked. Everything began to terrifyingly fall into place. Hospital! The last time he had heard those incessant noises, and viewed a bag of saline hooked up to that guzzling machine, was when he had been beaten and rushed to hospital after the school dance last year. It took Blaine another few seconds to consider why he was actually in the hospital again, but when it all came flooding back, he wished with all his heart that he hadn't had such an inquisitive mind; that he had just returned to sleep. Flashbacks of what his father had done that awful night passed through his mind. He recalled the terror, the rage and the anguish that had been coursing through him as he ran from his father, and from the house that had been his prison for almost six years. Blaine's stomach churned as he remembered the cold feel of sleeping on the stone slabs of sidewalks, and the desperate hunger and thirst. His feet ached as they regained the feeling of stumbling all those miles with only one goal – to reach Lima. And then he remembered that he had done it. He had reached Lima, Ohio… at a terrible price.

Images of the balaclava-clad man shot to the forefront of his mind and continued to haunt it. Blaine could still hear the cruel, spitting jibes, grunts and laughter; feel the blood, sweat, and indescribable agony as his attacker plunged himself roughly, again and again, inside him, to the hilt, until he broke completely. He remembered the blinding, burning pain, as if he was entirely on fire; as if he was being ripped apart, and no one cared. Blaine became inconsolable now – not that it mattered, because no one was there to console him anyway… no one was ever there. He threw his head back and with the little energy he had left to give, released a raw, almost animalistic scream of pain and devastation. That had been it. That had been his first time… and it had _hurt_. He had lost his virginity to… that… that rapist. Oh God… he had been raped.

The images and recollections of the event became even clearer in his mind; every little detail was being thrust to the forefront of his memory, and he just wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to stop. He wailed, and cried and screamed, ripping his right hand up to clamp over his ear, not caring that it caused stabs of pain, because jabs from a needle didn't even compare to the feel of his rapist inside him. He gritted his teeth, slammed his eyes shut and with all the mental power he had, tried to get the flashbacks to go away.

* * *

Burt ended the call to Kurt, aggrieved at hearing his son sob his heart out over the fact that his once best friend was in the hospital under the most awful of potential circumstances. Kurt had said that he was going to find Finn that minute at get him to drive him to the hospital, and if Burt knew his son, that would occur as soon as possible. He had tried his best to warn Kurt of Blaine's state, but he was still afraid that when the two boys finally came face to face, one or even both of them would break down. Of course, he had not seen Blaine properly for six years – the boy could have changed drastically for all he knew, but somehow he rather doubted his reactions to Kurt would change. For two friends to have their minds and hearts so completely tuned to one another as Kurt and Blaine had, he did not think that would change so easily, however many years had passed. Sighing, Burt replaced his phone back into the pocket of his overalls, and aimed to return to Blaine's room.

Once he entered, he was confronted with a truly heart-breaking sight. Blaine was no longer tucked up in bed sleeping peacefully as he had been when Burt had left. For want of an understatement, he was distressed. Blaine was thrashing around in the cot, screaming and making the most devastatingly distraught noises he had ever heard, tears coursing unchecked down his gaunt cheeks. His right hand was clamped firmly over his right ear, causing the needle connecting the saline drip to become disturbed, with the consequence that a few drops of blood were trickling from his hand, down his arm and onto the bedclothes. The boy's eyes were tight shut, and though his screams were virtually unintelligible, Burt thought he could make out the word 'stop'. Burt decided that Blaine could be in the throes of a distressing nightmare, before he saw the kid's eyes flicker open briefly to stare fearfully at the wall directly in front of him. It did not take a genius to work out that Blaine wasn't seeing a wall, but a person. Someone who was causing him unbearable pain – his attacker? The poor boy looked so anguished that he seemed about ready to tear his ears and eyes out to stop himself from recalling what Burt assumed were memories.

Although his heart was already shattering, Burt forced himself out of his paralysed state of shock and called out into the corridor to no one in particular:

"Help! I need some help!"

Immediately, two nurses – one male, and one female hurried from their positions in the corridor, into the room, and arrived by Blaine's bedside, with Burt hovering in concern. He wanted more than anything to take the poor boy in his arms, rock him and tell him everything was going to be alright, just like he did when Kurt was upset, but he didn't know if Blaine would welcome this action at the moment. The nurses hurriedly tried to gain his attention, speaking in a much louder, much harsher tone than Burt would have used; one of them seizing Blaine's hand away from his ear to set the needle straight, and the other trying to amend the tubing feeding in through the boy's nose, because it had slipped a little during Blaine's thrashing. The instant they touched him, Blaine's eyes flew open, and he recoiled, flinging himself with all his might across the bed, away from them, screaming:

"Go away! Stop it! Go away! Please GO AWAY! STOP!"

Burt didn't know whether he was surprised or horrified at the fact that neither of the nurses looked in the least bit perturbed by Blaine's reaction. On the contrary, they seemed pretty much passive, almost desensitised, and the mechanic supposed it was because they saw rape and abuse victims a lot. But, Burt thought angrily, this wasn't just another case – this was Blaine – a fifteen-year-old kid who he cared for as if was his own son, and who had just been violated in the worst possible way, not to mention been treated like dirt by his own father his entire life. So Burt could see just how much right Blaine had to finally crack; the fear in his eyes and the raw sounds of pain he was making, only confirmed Burt's thoughts that the boy was suffering. The last thing he needed were rough grasps from cold hands belonging to complete strangers, and loud voices in his ear telling him to calm down.

"His fever's probably getting worse. He may need to be sedated again." the female nurse commented to her colleague. "I'll fetch Doctor Carlton."

With that, she paced quickly out of the room, leaving the male nurse behind to try and coax an extremely hysterical Blaine back into the centre of the bed, and get him to calm down. Blaine however seemed blind to the fact that he was in a hospital – a safe haven. It was almost as if he was re-living some horrible nightmare. Burt was nearly as distressed as Blaine. He had never seen a human being cry in such anguish, and for it to be Blaine made it a thousand times worse. The confident, bright, bouncy young boy with the sparkling hazel eyes and dazzling smile, who had used to clutch tightly to Kurt's hand, running around his back garden, had gone. He had been replaced with a slightly older boy, yet strangely, he seemed smaller from the vulnerable, tight ball he curled himself into. This kid did not have sparkling hazel eyes or rosy cheeks as he flashed a dazzling smile. His face was thinner, caused by hunger and there was no light at all in his eyes except for the glistening of tears; in fact, he looked haunted, deadened and almost defeated.

The young, male nurse was doing his best, but his frantic attempt to get Blaine to lie still so that he could adjust the drip and tubing only eked more hysteria from Blaine:

"Get off! Just stop… please stop! No more!"

Burt's heart shattered for the final time, and angrily watching the nurse try to manhandle Blaine back into the centre of the bed, marched over to the bed and pushed the young man out of the way.

"Sir," the nurse complained. "It's not a good idea for you to be around him at the moment. You'll distress him."

Burt flashed the young man a scathing look, "I think you're doing just fine with that already."

"Sir, I must insist-"

Burt gritted his teeth, trying to keep all of his emotions in check, especially when Blaine was still sobbing on the bed near him, "Do you know this kid?" he demanded of the intervening nurse, who looked a little stumped, as if he wasn't used to the families of patients questioning his judgement.

"Um… n-no." he replied honestly, though with some reluctance. Now he looked like nothing more than a small boy in the face of an emotional Burt Hummel.

"Do you care about him?" Burt continued passionately. "Not because it's your duty, or your job, or because of common decency, but because he is family. Do you care about him as if he is your own flesh and blood?"

"Um-"

"No? Then at least let me try." Burt growled back. "Because I _do_."

The young nurse looked uncomfortable, but after a few seconds nodded and took a step backwards to edge of the room. Closing his eyes for a brief second, summoning the courage to stay strong of the distressed kid on the bed, Burt turned away from the nurse and walked slowly to the left hand side of the bed, where Blaine was currently sobbing and cowering, his right hand clamped back over his ear again; his left one probably unmoveable because of the heavy cast wrapped around it. Carefully, he lowered himself into one of the plastic chairs next to the bed, and noticing that Blaine had slammed his eyes shut again, reached out and gently took his right hand down from his ear and held it in his own. The boy automatically cried out and tried to tug it out of Burt's grasp, but he continued to hold it still, gently but firmly, just as he had done all those years ago when stopping the kid from pressing his hands over his wounded head.

"Blaine… buddy, it's Burt." He said softly, leaning forwards so that only he and Blaine could possibly hear his words; not wanting the spying nurse to eavesdrop. When the crying boy didn't react, he squeezed his hand and tried again, "It's Burt Hummel."

Burt swore he saw a flicker of recognition from Blaine, even though the kid's eyes were closed. However, Blaine made no effort to stop crying or look up, or even react it a way which would be physically visible, unless one was looking for it. Patiently, Burt waited for a couple of minutes in silence, stroking the boy's hand carefully with his thumb, allowing the boy to get used to his touch, and felt his heart lift a little when Blaine slowly relaxed his tense hand into Burt's. Still however, he did not stop cowering or sobbing; nor did he make an attempt to open his eyes.

"It's Burt," the man repeated encouragingly. "Burt Hummel. Do you remember me at all?" He paused, checking for any sign of a response from Blaine. When there wasn't one, he tried something that he thought might get the boy's attention. "Kurt's dad? Kurt Hummel's dad?"

It took a moment for Blaine to react, but Burt knew that his mention of Kurt had done the trick. He had been right. Even now, Blaine still remembered Kurt. That bond was still in there somewhere. Slowly, ever so slowly, Blaine cracked his eyes open, raising his face inch by inch from his curled up position on the mattress, until he finally looked up into the kind, gently smiling face of Burt Hummel. Burt saw recognition and an array of different emotions pass across Blaine's sweaty, feverish, tear-soaked face, as he looked searchingly at him, and he knew that only two words had to be spoken:

"Hey, kid." He whispered softly.

With that, Burt watched Blaine crumble completely and fall forwards towards him. The man got the message immediately, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and catching the boy as he fell into his arms, sobbing his heart out into Burt's shoulder. Burt simply held him and rocked him gently, glad that Blaine was back with them, even if only in part.

"I've got you, bud." He murmured into the boy's ear, forcing his own tears down as he reached up to smooth Blaine's sweaty curls away from his forehead. "I've got you. Kurt's on his way. You're _safe_. You're _home_. You're home and no one is ever going to hurt you again, I promise you that."

**Next up - the moment we've been waiting for - a Klaine reunion. With Blaine in the state he is, how will he react? Also, apologies if people are finding it a bit Burt-heavy at the moment. Don't worry, the fic's all about Klaine once we get into the main grasp of the story. Please let me know what you think.**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Sorry for the delay with this chapter - a lot happening at the moment. Thank you so much to all you wonderful people who reviewed, followed or favourited - it means a lot. I hope you like this chapter because it took quite a while to write. _**

_Kurt had always hated school. Even kindergarten had been horrible, because all of the boys in his class teased him for his high-pitched voice, and shouted that he sounded like a girl. He perhaps wouldn't have minded had he gotten on well with the girls, but they did not seem to want to know or play with him either, simply because he was a boy, and boys were apparently 'icky'. So he just spent his time sitting on the beanie bags in the corner of the room arranging tea parties with the grubby toys provided, or singing songs that his Mommy sang to him at home. Kurt thought that his Mommy was a beautiful singer and that her voice sounded so pretty when singing him a lullaby each night. She never looked happier than when she was singing, and when he asked, she had even taught him some of the easier melodies like 'Humpty Dumpty' or 'Oh When The Saints'. Yet when he sat in the corner, singing happily to himself at kindergarten, the other kids just laughed at him again. He couldn't really win. Eventually, the only activity he found that did not attract attention to himself, was drawing. Kurt could find a corner of the room or playground to sit in and absorb himself in a drawing extremely quickly, and would only return from his own little world, when the teacher called "Story time". _

_His Mommy and Daddy had seemed upset when his teacher, Miss Cartwright came round to his house one night to say that she felt he wasn't being very… what was the word… sociaby? Miss Cartwright had said that she was worried he was ignoring the other kids in his class, but Kurt had just frowned because that was not the case, and he was almost certain she knew it. The other kids were mean to him and didn't want him to play their games; it was not a case of him ignoring them. Yet Kurt was sure he would never forget the look of worry, almost disappointment on his daddy's face when Miss Cartwright left. When Kurt asked him anxiously, Burt had quickly replied that he wasn't disappointed, but Kurt still had been unable to shake the bad feeling from him tummy. That night, as he had been getting ready for bed, he had told his Mommy the truth, and asked if he was doing something wrong. She had shaken her head firmly and said softly, kissing him on the forehead, that he was special… that the other kids were jealous of him, and didn't understand how special he was and would be. _

_Yet when he went to school, still nothing changed. He was still left out of games, and laughed at, only it was much worse. The big kids in the higher grades would sometimes push him over so hard that he fell over and scraped his knee; they would take the lunch money that his Daddy gave him to buy sweets, and generally, made him hate going to school. He couldn't tell his Mommy and Daddy what was going on, because he didn't want to see the same looks of sadness on their faces as he witnessed that night Miss Cartwright visited them. So today, he was sitting in a new classroom, beginning his second year at school, and not looking forward to it at all. His new teacher, Mrs Mason, seemed nice enough, but his class still laughed at him whenever he spoke, calling him a 'girl', and he had been seated on a table entirely made up of girls, who all ignored him. Still, the task that they had been set that morning was fun. Mrs Mason had asked them to write about themselves, their family and their hobbies, so that she could get to know that class, and Kurt found that easy enough. He finished in plenty of time and was just putting the perfecting touches to the drawing of himself, his mommy and his daddy when the bell for lunchtime rang. _

_Kurt's relatively good mood faded as he realised that he would have to go outside to the playground where some of the big kids would undoubtedly laugh at him again. He seemed to be the favourite target for being bullied in such a small school and Kurt couldn't help but wonder again, miserably, why people hated him. What had he done wrong? He watched the rest of the class scramble out of the door, all wanting to be the first to get outside, but Kurt chose to walk more slowly behind them. The less time spent outside, the better. _

_Once outside, Kurt walked to his usual spot in the playground – the corner, where he slid down the wall, and took out the small notebook which his Mommy had bought him for drawing in. It was brand new, and had been bought specially as a present to celebrate him starting his second year, and Kurt decided that his first drawing would be for his Mommy. He would show it her when she picked him up from school, so he had to make it perfect. Soon, he had drawn several people, all of whom were wearing different clothes, because that was what interested him most – their outfits had to be perfect. His smile however did not last when he felt the notebook being ripped from his hands and he looked up in terror to see the tall form of Tanner Westwood, the school bully, now in the top class, smiling nastily at him. _

"_Look," He sneered to his friends, who had all caught him up and were jeering at Kurt as he scrambled up from the floor, though he was still only up to Tanner's forearm. "Girly Kurtie's back!" His gang laughed at the bad joke, and watched as Tanner looked down at Kurt's notebook. "And look – he's drawn more girls in stupid dresses." _

"_Give it back." Kurt mumbled quietly, but he couldn't even look Tanner in the eyes because he was so scared. Why did he always have to be scared? _

"_What did you say to me, freak?" Tanner asked, suddenly angry at Kurt for arguing back. _

_Kurt cowered in the older boy's shadow, and it took him several attempts to find his voice. "Give me my book back… p-please." He whispered again._

_Tanner's face suddenly contorted into a laugh, his voice breaking, portraying his early teenage years. "No," he sneered, suddenly chucking the precious book to one of his gang, who caught it easily and held it up above his head so that Kurt could not reach it. "You'll have to jump for it first." _

_Kurt looked at them pleadingly for a moment before realising they weren't going to give in. He thought about leaving it, but then his Mommy would wonder where his book had gone, and he would have to tell her that the bullies took it, because he was hopeless at lying. What was more, his mommy and daddy had always taught him to never lie or be dishonest. Looking up into Tanner's laughing face, Kurt's chin began to tremble and he felt himself begin to cry. _

"_P-Please g-g-give me m-my book back." He begged them softly. _

"_Aww," Tanner sneered nastily, apparently happy that Kurt was crying. "Little, baby, girly Kurtie's crying. What do you think – should we give him his book back?" he asked, grinning at his gang. _

"_No." The boy who was holding the book up replied, though Kurt didn't know his name. _

"_Right answer, Johnny." Tanner nodded, before turning back to Kurt, who couldn't help but cry silently, again wondering why people bullied him like this. "Jump for the book, fag." _

_Kurt frowned briefly, wondering what 'fag' meant. He had never heard that word before, but he decided in the midst of his tears that it could only be another word for 'girl', because that was always what he was called. Sniffling, realising that the older boys weren't going to relent, embarrassedly, he began to jump for the book that Johnny was holding. But he was just too small to reach it, and after a few moments, Johnny chucked the book to another boy in the gang, who also held it above his head, and the game continued. Kurt grew more and more upset as his book was thrown carelessly to each person in the gang, and he was just about to give up when the book was thrown to Johnny again, and he clumsily missed catching it, because he was laughing so hard. All of them turned their heads to see where the book had landed and were just in time to see it being picked up with smaller, more careful fingers. _

_A tiny, hazel-eyed boy with sleekly gelled dark hair, clearly younger than Tanner's lot, and Kurt himself, lifted the book gently into his arms, and stared at them all. Kurt momentarily stopped the worst of his crying and for a second thought that he recognised the younger boy, before he realised that he couldn't know him. He was probably in the new first grade class, and it was only his first day of school. Kurt was filled with hope for a small minute, as he considered that maybe this boy would be kind and give him his book back, before he realised that no one in the school was kind enough to do that, and even if they were, they wouldn't go against Tanner Westwood. He quietly began to cry again, but for the moment, he was ignored as Tanner and the rest of his gang turned to glare at the little, dark-haired boy. _

"_Give me the book, squirt!" Tanner yelled to the kid, as if it was obvious. The small boy stared silently, almost critically, at Tanner for a moment before his eyes came to rest on Kurt who looked away, upset and ashamed of his crying. He suddenly smiled, but it wasn't a jeer like the bullies provided or a sneer like the rest of Kurt's classmates. The smile was kind and comforting, and for some reason made Kurt look back towards him, only to realise the boy's eyes were still on him. _

"_Is this yours?" the younger boy asked softly, his hazel eyes glittering kindly, and for some reason, he looked much older than a first grader. _

_Tanner looked furious, whilst the rest of his gang seemed to be in shock. No one in the school playground disobeyed Tanner Westwood. No one. Kurt looked fearfully at Tanner for a moment, just as surprised, but nodded silently. To everyone's shock, the dapper-looking boy held the book out to Kurt, though he didn't move from where he was standing, obviously sensing that if he moved towards them, then Tanner would inevitably grab him and the book. _

"_Did you not hear what I said, you little squirt?" Tanner demanded angrily. "I rule this school, so you give the book to me." _

_The boy turned his striking hazel eyes on Tanner, "But it's not yours." He replied quietly, but respectfully. _

"_Give me the book!" Tanner spat. "Unless you want me to get the rest of this school to treat you like they treat girly Kurtie here." He said angrily, nodding at Kurt, who was desperately wiping at his tears and runny nose with the back of his hand. _

_The dark-haired little boy took one look at Kurt, before turning back to Tanner and answering bravely in a steadfast little voice, "No." _

_Tanner fumed and started towards the boy who was less than half his height when Johnny grabbed him and nodded to a spot behind Kurt's saviour. "Watch out – the teacher's coming." _

_Kurt looked up and felt relieved. Sure enough, one of the teacher's from the upper grades was circulating the playground, looking for any trouble, and Tanner wouldn't dare do anything else with a teacher around. Tanner growled and glared back at him, "Look – you've found yourself a faggy best friend, Kurtsie." He mocked, before passing the dark-haired boy and snapping: _

"_Wrong choice, worm. You're going to regret that."_

_With that, Tanner and his gang stalked away, just in time as the teacher reached that part of the playground, and passed them silently. Kurt stood awkwardly a few steps away from the other boy, more than a little surprised that someone had stood up to Tanner Westwood, and especially, stood up for him. With the exception of his mommy and daddy, no one had ever stood up for him before. So Kurt stood there silently, looking at the ground, waiting for the catch. Was the younger boy now going to laugh and run off with the book himself now? However, when he finally looked up, the boy was walking towards him, the book outstretched. Once the other kid reached him, Kurt stared cautiously at the book for a second as it was held out, before taking it back, breathing a sigh of relief as he finally felt it back in his hands. _

"_Th-thank you." Kurt said shyly, using one hand to wipe away his tears, and the other to wrap securely around his drawing book. _

"_You're welcome." The other boy replied softly, and Kurt looked up into his saviour's face in time to see a small, kind smile there. "Are you okay?" _

_Kurt sniffed, but was surprised to find that he suddenly felt much, much better. He was even able to form a small, albeit hesitant smile in return. "Y-yes, thank you." _

_The dark-haired boy reached into his pocket, pulled out a clean, perfectly folded tissue and handed it to Kurt, who took it slowly, wondering why someone was being so nice to him. He used it carefully to wipe the rest of his tears before looking back at the other boy, a little brighter. _

_The younger boy grinned, "_Now _you look okay." _

_Kurt couldn't help but smile in return. The other boy suddenly held out a hand in a way that Kurt had only seen his mommy and daddy do when meeting someone new. "My name's Blaine." _

_Kurt smiled softly as he shook the other boy's hand, just as his daddy had taught him to do. "Kurt." He answered politely._

"_It's my first day," Blaine announced to him brightly, sliding down the wall and Kurt did the same, this time making sure the book was tucked firmly into his arms. "I'm in first year. What grade are you in?" _

"_It's my second year." Kurt said, a little reservedly, still in shock that someone was actually talking to him. _

"_So you're..." Blaine worked out, and Kurt could see him counting on his fingers, just as he himself did, which made him smile. "Six?" _

_Kurt just nodded in response. "I'm five." Blaine continued, still smiling infectiously. They were silent for a moment before the younger boy asked softly, "Do they always bully you?" _

_Kurt looked down sadly and nodded, nervously fingering the edges of his drawing book. He raised his head to see Blaine frowning, as if the thought made him sad as well. "But… why?" he asked, apparently unable to see the other kid's hate for Kurt. Kurt wondered when this boy would begin to call him names too. _

"_Because I have a girly voice." He resigned miserably. _

_Blaine's frown turned into a soft smile, and to Kurt's surprise, he felt Blaine slip his hand into his own. "You have a nice voice." He complemented bashfully. _

_Kurt blushed but couldn't help but smile. There was just something about this new boy that made him smile, "Thank you." _

"_Don't listen to them, Kurt," Blaine said softly, squeezing his hand encouragingly. "You're really nice." _

_Kurt blushed again, thinking that he had only known Blaine for a few minutes so how could the other boy know that he was nice, but Kurt noticed that suddenly, he felt much happier. The second bell rang, indicating that they could all come in and get their lunch now, but Kurt remained where he was. His lunch money had been taken from him by Tanner and his gang as soon as his mommy had kissed him goodbye at the school gates that morning. As everyone began charging towards the open entrance to the canteen, Blaine looked around confusedly, obviously not yet used to the school's routine. _

"_What's going on?" he asked Kurt, for the first time seeming a little vulnerable, and Kurt noticed his slightly scared expression as he shrank back to avoid all of the rampaging feet. _

"_It's lunchtime," Kurt explained patiently. "So everyone's going inside to eat."_

"_Oh," Blaine replied, his bright expression returning instantly, however it dampened as he noticed Kurt was making no attempt to move. "Are you not having any lunch?" he asked. _

_Kurt looked down at the floor and shook his head. _

"_Are you not hungry?" Blaine asked, sympathetically. _

_As if on cue, Kurt's tummy rumbled and he realised just how hungry he was, but knew he would have to wait until he went home. "I… I don't have any lunch money." He mumbled sadly. _

_Blaine frowned for a brief second before tugging on their interlinked hands to get Kurt to stand up with him. Kurt did just that and stared at this strange, but wonderful boy in bewilderment. _

"_That's okay, Kurt." He said brightly, his eyes twinkling with kindness. "You can have some of mine. It's a homemade lunch – I made it myself." He smiled proudly. _

_Kurt wondered for a moment why Blaine had made it when everyone else who had packed lunches had either their mommies or daddies make it, before he realised what Blaine was saying. The other boy had already been so kind to him, and he didn't want Tanner to bully Blaine because of him. He was too nice for that. _

"_No, it's okay." Kurt declined, feeling unbelievably sad as he removed his hand from Blaine's. _

_As he did so, Blaine's face fell, his eyes also looking sad, like that of a kicked puppy, "Do you not want to be friends, Kurt?" he asked vulnerably. _

_Kurt's head snapped up and he was unable to stop himself from saying quickly, "I do," before he realised what he said. "It… it's just… you'll… you'll be bullied if you're my friend. No one… no one likes me." He mumbled. _

"_But _I _like you." Blaine said timidly. "I… I don't mind the bullies. I'd rather be your friend."_

_Kurt looked up hesitantly at Blaine and they both smiled at each other. _

"_Please have some of my lunch, Kurt." Blaine pleaded gently. "My mommy used to say that everybody has to eat something." He held out his hand and waited patiently for Kurt to decide. _

_Kurt thought about it for a moment. If he made friends with Blaine then Tanner would bully him as well… but the thought of finally having a friend… especially one as nice as Blaine was so appealing. He watched as that same bright, kind smile slid across the other boy's face, and Kurt decided that he would trust him. Blaine didn't seem like the kind of person to trick him or be nasty to him like the other kids. It was a surprise that someone wanted to befriend him, but a welcome one. Slowly, ever so slowly, Kurt lifted up his hand and slipped his fingers through Blaine's. Blaine grinned infectiously again, and began to run energetically across the playground towards the dining room door, pulling Kurt along in his wake. As lunchtime progressed, and the two boys sat side by side in a hidden away part of the school, away from the jeers of bullies in the canteen, eating the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Blaine had made, they talked animatedly. Blaine was kind and attentive as Kurt spoke, and gradually, Kurt became more confident in what he said; no one, except his parents, had ever been that nice to him before. Kurt realised why he vaguely recognised Blaine, as he mentioned he lived at the address right next to him; the house where Kurt knew the scary Mr Anderson lived. Kurt didn't realise Blaine lived there, and Blaine hadn't realised Kurt lived next door either, because apparently he wasn't allowed outside much without his daddy's permission. Shyly, Kurt showed Blaine his drawing in the notebook, at which Blaine enthusiastically complemented him on the outfits of the figures and said that he was really good at drawing. At the end of the lunch period, they agreed to see each other after school, and for the first time in his life, Kurt couldn't remember being so happy. _

"Dude!" a loud, sharp shout brought Kurt back to his senses, as his eyes flew open in response. He had only closed them for a moment, allowing himself to drift off into happy memories so that he did not have to think about what he was about to face. Kurt saw the road moving past him quickly; an indication that they were still on their way to the hospital. However, apparently Finn, who had been silent ever since approaching him in the corridor on the way back from Figgins' office, grumbling that Carole had called him, telling him to take Kurt to the hospital immediately, suddenly had something to say. "Dude, did you not hear me?"

Kurt sighed, and turned his attention to Finn, who was half focusing on the road ahead, half casting worried glances at his almost-stepbrother in the passenger seat. "What? Sorry, Finn?" Kurt asked, having no idea what the larger boy had just said. He had been too caught up in amazing memories. Ideally, he had not wanted to be disturbed, because that one memory was very dear to him. That was the moment when everything began; that day had been when an unspoken vow had been forged between he and Blaine: best friends forever. And Kurt intended to keep that vow.

"Dude, are you okay?" Finn questioned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he cast another worried glance at Kurt before turning a sharp bend in the road. "You look kind of… spaced out. You're not about to… I don't know… faint or anything are you?"

Kurt wondered if he was actually going to faint. He did feel a little lightheaded, but he put that down to the fact that he had just been told his estranged best friend had been found alive and well after so many years of hearing nothing. He decided that he would be fine. The last thing Blaine or his dad needed right now was him needing hospital treatment as well. "Yeah… I mean… no, I'm not going to faint," Kurt replied adamantly, his voice quiet and still slightly hoarse from the onslaught of tears brought on by the phone conversation with his dad. "I'm fine. Just… just thinking, that's all."

"So who is this guy we have to see in the hospital. Is it really so urgent that we have to miss glee practice?" Finn asked, apparently a little annoyed that he hadn't been given the full details of the situation. Kurt realised that Carole apparently hadn't told her son much, apparently leaving it open to Kurt and Burt as to how much father and son would tell. He felt a twinge of annoyance at Finn as the boy questioned the urgency of the matter. Anything that was to do with Blaine was urgent in his mind.

"Yes," he snapped coolly. "It is urgent." He turned away to stare out of the window, though he was not paying the slightest attention to the scenery outside. "And _this guy_, as you call him, is… was my best friend."

Finn frowned, apparently confused, "Your best friend? But, dude," he said uncomfortably. "I… I thought your best friend is Mercedes… or… I don't know… Tina. Rachel says you're pretty close as well…"

Kurt closed his eyes tiredly. The last thing he wanted to hear about right now was Rachel Berry or that girl's thoughts on who her close, personal friends were. He thought of kind, sweet Blaine and then arrogant, self-centred Rachel Berry and cringed. "I knew Blaine before I went to high school… before I even knew Mercedes, or glee club, or you, or… anyone at McKinley."

"So what happened – did he go to a different high school or something?" Finn asked, clearly not too bothered about the answer, and obviously not realising the sensitivity of the matter.

"No," Kurt growled, feeling prickled at the careless, flippant way his almost-stepbrother was talking about Blaine. He thought about Blaine suffering in the hospital and wanted to cry all over again. "His _abusive_ dad took him away from Lima when he was ten and I haven't heard from him since… until now." He added in a slightly softer tone.

Finn's eyes widened in shock as Kurt uttered the words 'abusive dad', and swallowed awkwardly. "Oh," he said, apparently unable to articulate a sensitive sentence beyond that. "So… so why's he in the hospital?"

It was Kurt's turn to swallow. He really didn't want to think about it. He did not even want to voice the words his dad had spoken on the phone, because that would just make the situation more real. "Because he was attacked…" he said unsteadily, tears welling quickly to his eyes. "…r-raped."

Finn's eyes widened even further and he started gawping at the road in front of him, turning to glance in shock at Kurt during frequent intervals. His hands shifted on the steering wheel, illustrating the larger boy's discomfort, and it was a good minute or so before Finn hesitantly voiced what he was thinking, "But," he spoke in confusion. "I… I thought… I thought that was something guys… you know… only did to… girls."

Finn and his lack of sex education was the last thing Kurt wanted to reply to at that moment. Had he not just been sitting in a lesson with Finn, who thought that a person could catch STDs from a cucumber, then Kurt may have suspected the jock was trying to take the mickey. Yet he knew that the other boy was not trying to be deliberately ignorant so Kurt reigned in the urge to shout and scream at Finn because he knew he was just emotional over hearing about Blaine's attack. Instead he planted his face in his hands so that his almost-stepbrother could not see the tears in his eyes and answered in a deadened voice, through gritted teeth:

"No, Finn… guys can be r-… guys do that to guys as well."

Apparently noticing the muffled quality to Kurt's voice, Finn shifted his gaze for a moment onto Kurt and saw the hand the smaller boy had carefully constructed over his eyes. Again, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with being stuck in the car with an emotional Kurt, he swallowed and placed his eyes back on the road.

"Look…" he muttered awkwardly after a brief pause. "Kurt… man, I didn't mean to… upset you or anything, you know. I just… if we're missing glee club, I wanted to know why."

Kurt did not reply for a moment, and so for several seconds the two boys sat in awkward silence until he did. "It's okay." he said, hating how choked up his voice sounded, especially since he had vowed to stay strong for Blaine's sake.

"And… um… sorry about… about your friend." Finn continued, partly in genuine concern, and partly because he felt the need to fill in the deadly silence that would otherwise dominate the journey.

Kurt did not have the energy to answer verbally this time, so he just nodded his thanks. More silence fell upon them before Finn spoke again:

"Why's he in the hospital in Lima if he left a long time ago?"

Kurt really wished he knew the answer to that question, and despite the worry that seized his entire body up as he thought of what his dad had described to him about Blaine's state on the phone, he selfishly could not help but wish Blaine had been returning to see him. "I… I don't know," Kurt eventually responded. "I really don't know… but I'm glad he's home."

* * *

Burt did not know how long he sat there, rocking the broken, sobbing boy in his arms; whispering gentle words of comfort every so often on top of the constant mantra 'I've got you. You're home. You're safe'. He could only estimate it was a fairly long time, because the weeping hushed every so often, only for a few seconds before it started up with even more strength than before. Burt's heart felt as if it was literally breaking as he watched the once together, confident Blaine fall apart completely. His instinct told him that this was not just a reaction to the attack but also to the pent up fear, anger and sheer desperation this boy must have been feeling for all these years. He did not even want to think about what Jonathan had done to consequent Blaine being homeless and starving for months on end, and especially didn't want to consider just how the boy had received many of the bruises and cuts that were slowly revealed on his body as Burt held him. Some of the injuries were undoubtedly caused by the attack but others looked older – more warn, but not quite healed, like the slight scar by Blaine's right eye, where he had been hurt all those years ago. Had the wound been left to heal properly then it would not have scarred, yet because of Jonathan's abuse that day, and probably, over the years, it was permanent. Burt listened to the poor boy cry; it was not a tantrum over something trivial – the sobs being produced reflected fear, desperation and pure suffering, and they were all pouring out now, probably after years of holding them in.

The male nurse hovered in the corner of the room nervously, and after a while, the female nurse returned with a tall, middle-aged man wearing the signature white coat, whom he assumed was Doctor Carlton. Burt exchanged one look with the doctor, and was thankful that the man understood his silent plea, as he silently nodded and led his two subordinates from the room. Time passed and still Blaine kept sobbing, but Burt made no attempt to stop him, understanding that the boy releasing all of his emotions like this was essential as a first step to his recuperation. He had told a crying Kurt on many occasions that it was better out than in. Gradually, Blaine's heart-wrenching cries were reduced to sniffles, hiccups and desperate attempts to breathe at a normal rhythm. Burt slowly slackened his grip on the boy, but continued to keep a steadying hand on his back; otherwise he was convinced that in Blaine's weakened state, the teenager would fall heavily back onto the mattress. Blaine, who had fallen into Burt's arms, desperately seeking comfort, seemed to become more aware of himself and who he was with; slowly he disengaged himself from the adult and bowed his head, unable to meet Burt's eye. Burt could not bear the expression of shame flitting across the boy's features; Blaine had every right to cry, and no reason at all to be ashamed. The mechanic tried to think of something which might lighten the sudden tension:

"A little worse for wear…" Burt said softly, forcing a small smile of encouragement onto his face. "But at least I know I came all the way to the hospital for the right person." He smiled, but instantly regretted it; feeling guilty when Blaine, who was barely keeping it together, crumbled and began to cry quietly again. Sighing at his own stupidity, Burt folded the boy once more into his arms, and was about to murmur more words of comfort when Blaine finally cried:

"I'm s-sorry… I'm s-s-so, so, s-s-sorry."

Burt frowned, releasing Blaine to look down into the boy's crumpled face, "Bud, what could you possibly be sorry for?"

Blaine seemed to struggle to speak for a moment before he let out on a stinted, uneven breath in between cries, "F-For b-b-burdening you. F-For making you c-come all the w-w-way here… f-for me."

Burt hated the degrading way Blaine talked about himself. "Don't you be silly," he chastised, suddenly much louder and with such firmness, it almost seemed to make Blaine glance upwards to meet his eye. Almost. "Don't be sorry for that. Don't ever be sorry for that. You matter, Blaine. You matter. I am _incredibly_ glad you asked to see me and my son… and believe me when I say, I am so, _so_ glad to see you again… even in these circumstances."

Blaine let out another spasmodic sob, and bent his head even lower, "Y-Y-You won't th-think that when… when y-y-you know w-what I am."

Burt frowned, trying to work out what on earth the boy could be talking about. He was certain that there was not anything that this boy could do to make him hate him, or turn his back on him. That was Jonathan's forte. "What? What do you mean?" he asked the boy gently.

"I-I'm a-a-a bad p-person." Blaine sobbed helplessly, closing his eyes, as if attempting to shut himself off from the world, because that was the only way to relieve himself of the pain, both physically and internally. Burt's frown deepened as he remembered the sweet, endearing little boy who used to laugh and sing along with Kurt whilst watching Disney movies, and was quite convinced that even in six years, that boy could not change into a bad person. There was too much good in him.

"I doubt that," Burt replied adamantly. "You're a good kid, Blaine. You're a really good person."

Blaine let out another shaky breath and struggled to suck in another one, apparently not agreeing with Burt's words. "I-I am a bad p-person."

"Says who?" Burt demanded, not for a moment believing that Blaine could do anything majorly wrong. He had his own suspicions over who could have drilled the idea of Blaine being a bad person into the boy's head, and that certain someone's name began with the letter 'J'. How brutally had Blaine's self-confidence been battered over the years by his father, and now, as a result of the rape?

Blaine did not respond to Burt's question; instead he cried harder than ever, "P-P-Please d-don't send me b-back. Don't… don't s-s-send me b-back."

Burt quelled the majority of the anger he was feeling towards Jonathan at that moment, from showing on his face, as Blaine's pleas confirmed his suspicions. Jonathan had done something pretty damn awful this time and Blaine had clearly run away… only to be harmed in the worst possible way when he eventually reached Lima. One thing was for sure, Burt thought determinedly – that monstrous excuse for a father was not getting his son back this time. Blaine would stay with him and Kurt – the people who loved him. "Never," Burt promised the broken boy. "You're never going back, I promise. You're home… you're safe… we'll never send you back to that monster."

"Y-Y-You won't th-think that when… when y-y-you know w-what I am." Blaine repeated again, doing his utter best to hide himself from Burt's scrutiny.

"What could you possibly be or have done that is so awful?" Burt demanded softly.

There was an interval between speech, during which Blaine continued to cry quietly, whilst gathering the courage to admit his supposed fault. What he said was not what Burt had been expecting… not that he had been expecting much:

"I-I'm g-gay."

It took a few moments for Burt to process Blaine's insinuation that he thought being gay would be a problem to Burt. The mechanic could not in any way see how the boy's sexuality made him a bad person, or different in Burt's eyes, particularly since he had always suspected, even during their childhood, that both Kurt and Blaine were gay. Burt was further disturbed by the way that Blaine's face scrunched up after this confession, and the boy leaned away slightly as if waiting to be hit or expecting a yell of disgust. Burt shook his head in shock and gently squeezed the boy's shoulder.

"I know." He answered softly. Burt watched as Blaine's eyes flew open in shock and for the first time since acknowledging Burt's arrival, he met the adult's eyes, his tears still running steadily down his cheeks. "I know. Kid, you and Kurt used to play dress-ups, literally in dresses and heels… you used to marry and divorce your power rangers who knows how many times a day, and have tea parties with them… I know you're gay. How on earth does that make you a bad person?"

Blaine's crying had eased off slightly now, but his cheeks were still tear-soaked, and he still looked incredibly feverish as he tried to articulate an answer to Burt's question. The poor kid looked as sick a dog and he wished there was something more he could do to help. He could only feel relatively glad he had eased Blaine's distress, even if only for a moment.

"Let me put it another way," Burt suggested, taking advantage of the current quiet to replace the needle in Blaine's hand, back into its correct place so that the saline drip would function to the best of its ability and ensure Blaine was hydrated. "Why would I think being gay is something to despise, when Kurt, who I love very much, is gay?" As he talked about Kurt, he saw Blaine's eyes widen; apparently the boy had not suspected this about his childhood friend. But then again, they hadn't seen each other in six years. "I love Kurt – when he first told me, I wasn't… over the moon about it, but he can't change how he feels… it's who he is and I love him for who he is. It would be a bit hypocritical of me to despise you for having the same sexuality, don't you think?" he asked Blaine, who didn't reply but still seemed to be affected by his words. Instead the boy sniffed and appeared to focus on getting his uneven, spasmodic breathing back to normal. Burt allowed him a few seconds before adding gently; though he already knew the answer Blaine would inevitably give:

"Unless you think Kurt's a bad person for being gay?"

Blaine's eyes shot up to meet his as he said with much more assuredness than he had ever had when speaking of himself, "No! No, h-he's… he's… perfect." He struggled out, before ducking his head again, sniffing quietly. Burt could not help but smile at Blaine's reaction. He rather agreed with the boy's words, and they certainly confirmed his thoughts that there was still an ever-strong bond between Kurt and Blaine, even after such a long time apart. "Is Kurt okay?"

Burt had to shake himself twice – once out of his reverie and again to check that he had heard Blaine correctly. The boy had spoken in such a quiet, timid little voice that his words, had Burt not been listening attentively, would have been unintelligible; the difference between the cautious, frightened-of-his-own-shadow Blaine that sat before him and the bright, bouncy boy of six years previously was colossal. On the other hand, here was Blaine, just as sweet and considerate over Kurt's wellbeing as before, even if he was the one who so desperately needed help at the present time. Burt released a small breathy laugh, "You're the one in the hospital, and yet you're asking if Kurt is okay?"

Blaine rather looked as if he wanted to be swallowed up by the floor, and Burt caught on that his replies had to be as gently but quick as possible, otherwise he may lose the present, but potentially tenuous connection with this boy. Gently he squeezed Blaine's shoulder and was glad that the teenager did not flinch, "He's… he is okay." Burt confirmed honestly, wishing he could say his son was more than 'okay', yet judging from the way Kurt had broken down over the phone earlier, he knew his baby boy was going to be distressed when he saw Blaine in this state. "He has trouble at school but then… he always has…"

To Burt's horror, fat tears started initiating their way down Blaine's cheeks again, and the familiar shaking of his shoulder's told the mechanic that the boy was beginning to get upset once more. This time however, he had no idea what he had said or done. Burt analysed his words carefully, but was unable to find the source of Blaine's sudden distress.

"Oh, bud." He murmured, heartbroken, drawing the shattered, damaged boy into his arms again. That Blaine accepted this comfort and leaned into this fatherly hug was only a momentary relief, because shortly afterwards, Blaine allowed his barriers to break down again, sobbing into Burt's overalls. "It's okay – you cry… you have a good cry. No one's going to judge you here-"

"I'm s-s-sorry," Blaine suddenly cried, his voice muffled as he spoke into Burt's shoulder. "I'm s-so s-s-sorry. I p-promised him that I'd p-protect him… but I left him… I h-h-hurt him."

"What?" Burt murmured incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous, buddy. You didn't hurt him. He doesn't blame you for having to leave – none of us do. It wasn't your fault, do you hear me?" Blaine continued to cry, so Burt wasn't actually sure the boy had heard him, but he continued anyway. "And as for promising to protect him… buddy, you made him so happy… and confident… when you were around, I've never seen Kurt happier… but it wasn't your job to protect him." He looked at the trembling boy before him. "But I think at times, like today, you really needed someone to protect _you_."

Blaine sobbed harder in response and buried his face fully into the man's shoulder, as if trying to hide from the world. "I tried to stop him," he wept, and Burt had no trouble working out what, or rather _who_ the poor boy was now referring to. The mechanic suddenly had the urge to be sick, but forced himself to keep strong for the broken teenager. "I t-t-tried to f-fight him off… b-but I c-c-couldn't. I-I promise I t-tried-" he blubbered feverishly, to which Burt hushed him softly.

"I know bud… I know you tried." Burt murmured, almost in tears himself, bringing Blaine back into the gentle rocking motion he had initiated to calm the boy when he first woke up. "But you were so tired-"

"It's my own fault," Blaine cried, although he seemed to be berating himself now more than responding to Burt. "It's all my f-f-fault. I sh-should have tried h-h-harder-"

"Don't you dare blame yourself for this, Blaine. This is not, nor will it ever be your fault. We'll catch the bastard who did this, I promise you." Burt told the boy firmly, although his heart was breaking all over again, hearing this poor kid blaming himself for falling victim to a rapist. "There was nothing you could have done. You were exhausted – he would have easily overpowered you however hard you tried. You're _still _exhausted, kiddo-"

Blaine squeezed his eyes closed with such force, it looked as if he was physically trying to push the memories from his mind, "I b-begged him t-t-to st-stop but he just… laughed and c-c-carried on. I didn't want – I didn't w-w-want it… I wasn't r-r-ready."

Burt felt so, _so_ angry as he listened to the brutal way in which Blaine's bastard attacker had treated the boy. He was _fifteen_ for God's sakes. Fifteen years old, and Blaine's words suggested that _that_ had been his first time. He grinded his teeth together and tried to stop himself from shaking with fury; Blaine was _fifteen_ – of course he wasn't ready. And nobody would ever be ready for, or indeed deserve such a fate as sexual assault. He tightened his grip on the boy, desperate to provide him with at least that small comfort.

"It h-h-hurt." Now that Blaine was talking of the attack, apparently he could not stop.

"I know, bud." Burt murmured sympathetically, blinking back his own tears. "I'm so sorry."

"K-Kurt's n-n-never going to w-want to s-s-see me again w-when he f-finds out." Blaine cried, looking completely ashamed.

Burt shook his head, wishing he could stuff all of those bags of confidence that younger Blaine used to have, back into the slightly taller, older Blaine. "I've let Kurt know what's happened," he told the boy gently, continuing when Blaine looked devastated. "And he desperately wants to see you, bud. He doesn't give a damn that he hasn't seen or heard from you in six years. The first thing he said was that he wanted to see you. He misses you, buddy. We've all missed you."

"I-I don't w-want him to be ashamed of m-me." Blaine admitted, sucking in a breath almost greedily in an attempt to calm down.

"He won't be ashamed of you," Burt said surely. "I promise you that. No one could be ashamed of you after everything you've been through, bud. You've been so brave."

"I d-don't feel brave. All I c-can d-d-do is c-cry and I d-d-don't want to upset h-him."

"Blaine, for once in your life, put yourself first," Burt told him gently. "When you were brought in here, all you could say was that you wanted to see Kurt, so I know that no matter what you say now, you _do_ want to see him. And _he_ wants to see _you_." Blaine sniffed, looking doubtful. "You know, Kurt's grown up a lot since you last saw him; he's not going to break – he can handle himself pretty well. Like I said, it's not your job to take care of him – that's my responsibility. And if he's upset, which he probably will be, because he cares about you, then I'll deal with it." Slowly, Burt felt the tension in Blaine's body relax and knew he was beginning to calm down again. "But whatever happens, we won't abandon you, buddy – not again. You're not going back to Jonathan; you're coming home with us."

Blaine closed his eyes tightly, as if he could not bear the kindness Burt was showing him, or perhaps it was because kindness was a foreign experience to the boy. Burt was beginning to suspect both, but mainly the latter. He very much doubted Blaine had experienced much kindness at the hands of Jonathan Anderson. "I c-c-can't ask you t-to do that." Blaine struggled his way back into an even breathing pattern. "I c-can't b-be a burden to you."

"You don't have to ask – I'm telling you." Burt answered gruffly. "You'll come home with us-"

"I c-c-can't b-be a burden to you," Blaine repeated in distress. "I h-have nothing t-to repay you w-with… no m-money, no-"

"Do you think I care about any of that?" Burt demanded of the boy, a little hurt that the teenager would think otherwise. Then again, he had to remind himself that Blaine had Jonathan for a father, whose favourite hobby always seemed to be abusing or degrading his son. "I don't give damn that you have no money, bud. We don't need or want to be _repaid_. You're a part of the Hummel family – you always were. You belong with us."

Neither of them spoke for long minutes after Burt finished his declaration, but the mechanic swore that all of the tension in Blaine's body ebbed away at his words. Little by little, Blaine's sobs died down into little sporadic gulps of breath or sniffles, and Burt continued to hold him; to reassure him that he was truly home and cared for.

"'m tired." The boy whispered after a while, and sure enough, Burt could feel Blaine growing limp in his arms. The tears of distress and emotions at the reunion had completely wiped him out, on top of his already exhausted, malnourished state, and the teenager was beginning to drift off again.

Burt knew the boy needed rest, and rather thought that after Blaine's awful morning, the kid would welcome the haze of sleep, so gently he released him and laid him back down on the bed. "Then go to sleep, bud." He murmured back, adjusting the now wonky plastic tubing feeding into the boy's nostrils – the one that the nurses had been itching to fix but had not yet returned to resume the task. As he thought about this, he could not help but automatically glance up at the door, as if half-expecting the two nurses and that middle-aged doctor to waltz back in and take over now that Blaine was calmer. He had not however, been expecting Carole, leaning against the slightly ajar door, popping her head inside the room and smiling sadly. Burt checked on Blaine once more, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that the boy was asleep, looking almost peaceful, despite his trauma.

Burt carefully and quietly got up from his perch at the edge of the boy's bed and followed Carole outside into the corridor, making sure the door clicked shut with as minimal noise a possible so as not to wake Blaine. He turned to face Carole who was still smiling sadly:

"You were really good with him, Burt." She told him proudly, though she still looked heartbroken at what she had seen.

Burt shook his head frowning, "How long were you there?"

Carole also frowned, as if pondering whether or not to answer honestly before questioning, "Does it matter?"

Burt conceded that she had a point and shook his head again, "No, I guess not."

She gave him a sympathetic smile and reached up to rub his forearm gently, knowing from what she had witnessed that her partner seemed almost as broken as the poor boy in the hospital bed. "Are you okay?" she asked, though she knew it was a lame and counterproductive question; they both knew the answer was 'no'.

"I… I just…" Burt mumbled, unable to articulate words without breaking down into tears, which he really did not want to do because Kurt would be arriving soon and he had to be his son's pillar of strength. "I just really, _really_ wish there was more I could do for him. Actually, scratch that… I wish I stopped Jonathan all those years ago… stopped that bastard from… hurting him this morning."

Carole continued to rub his arm gently as a source of comfort and he looked back at her gratefully, "I know." She agreed, also wishing that she could have been driving to work only an hour or so earlier so that she could have prevented the attack from occurring. But, it was no use living in the past, she supposed. She then shook herself back into action, remembering why she had come to fetch Burt in the first place.

"Honey," Carole said softly. "Finn just called me – he and Kurt were just parking the car downstairs. They'll be up here in five minutes."

As if on cue, the lift doors at the far end of the corridor opened, revealing a devastated-looking Kurt, who already had tears dribbling down his chalk white cheeks, and Finn, who just looked plain uncomfortable. Burt automatically started to walk towards his son, feeling more grateful than he ever had done that Kurt was okay. His boy was okay… but a younger boy, who he also considered to be his son, was in a hospital bed. Kurt saw him immediately and began dashing down the corridor to meet him, "Dad!"

They met mid-way embracing each other fiercely, Kurt crying onto the same shoulder Blaine had, only half an hour previously. They stayed that way for a while until Kurt pulled back, looking anxiously into his father's eyes as he said the words Burt was dreading, "Where's Blaine? I want to see Blaine."

**Yeah, I stopped it there because otherwise it would have been even longer and it was a while since I updated so I figured I'd at least post something. But I swear (really, this time) that the Klaine reunion is up next now that Kurt is at the hospital. How will they both react? Apologies if there are any mistakes that I've missed- my keyboard's playing up at the moment. Please review and let me know what you thought of this.**


	6. Chapter 6

**As anticipated, a Klaine reunion, just in time for the tail end of Klaine Week - the primary reason why I updated today. Thank you so much for the reviews, favourites, and followers - they really mean a lot. I hope this is up to expectations.**

As Kurt finally pulled out of the embrace with his father, and spoke the urgent words 'Where's Blaine? I need to see Blaine', he saw Burt's eyes visibly turn sad, his mouth downturned and his expression grave. It only served to exacerbate the already uncontrollable fear and worry in Kurt's heart, and once again, he felt it thumping a million beats a minute. All he had done was run down the corridor towards his dad, and yet with the level of anxiety and emotionally-induced exhaustion he was experiencing, he might well have run a marathon. Kurt had been frightened over the phone, and absolutely devastated at what had happened to Blaine, but just seeing his father's obvious grief for the situation just made it all the more painful as it emphasised that this was really happening. Blaine had truly come home. Blaine had been attacked… Blaine had been… raped.

His dad rarely became this upset; Kurt could count on his fingers the number of times he had seen Burt willingly externalise his emotional state. The first, most prominent memory was of course, just after his mom died. They had all been in this same hospital nine years previously; he, his dad, and Blaine, who had sat there holding his hand the entire time, had been present when ovarian cancer finally took too firm a hold over Elizabeth Hummel for her to fight any longer. Kurt and Blaine had not been in the room when she finally passed away, because his mom had insisted, even when so weak, that she didn't want either of the children, especially Kurt, to remember something like that for the rest of their lives. That sheer act of selflessness, even though she clearly wanted her baby boy by her side in her final moments, had made Burt cry. In turn that had made Kurt cry, swiftly followed by Blaine, because he hated seeing Kurt so upset, and the two of them had been gently escorted from the room by a kindly nurse who looked after them for the next few hours. When Burt eventually appeared from the room, stating that his mom was finally resting and no longer in any pain, he cried again and then once more as the casket was lowered into the grave at the funeral. Following that, his dad rarely allowed himself to cry in front of him; he had always been so strong – he was Kurt's rock. Kurt knew that his dad must have cried more than that, but he suspected Burt kept these emotional outbursts for when he wasn't around, to protect him. Kurt sometimes got a little frustrated with this, but right now, seeing Burt's watery eyes and grave expression, all he wanted was for his daddy to protect him again. He desperately wanted Burt to just smile, clap him gruffly on the back and say that Blaine was fine; that everything was going the be okay, but in reality, Kurt knew this was not going to happen. In fact, Burt did not really respond to his plea to see Blaine, so he spoke again, with more urgency, his voice trembling.

"Dad? Where is he? I need to see him."

It was clear from the expression on his dad's face that the elder Hummel didn't like the idea of Kurt seeing Blaine at the moment, but his eyes flickering towards the door directly to his left betrayed Blaine's location. Taking a moment to gather strength for what he was about to do and see, Kurt took a shaky breath, blinked back some lingering tears, and started for the door. His hand was almost on the door handle when his dad must have realised what was happening, because he suddenly placed a restraining hand on his forearm and advised him softly:

"I… I don't think it's a good idea for you to see him at the moment, bud."

The pressure on his arm wasn't firm at all, and if he wanted to, Kurt could have quite easily pulled the handle down and entered the room anyway, regardless of his dad's opinion. But Kurt didn't often, if ever, ignore his dad's advice, and more importantly, he did not like the broken, devastated tone to Burt's voice. Still facing the door, Kurt whispered tremulously:

"W-Why not?"

Burt released a shaky sigh, but uttered no response, apparently being unable to find the right words. His silence was far more effective than any long speech could have been, making Kurt turn around slowly, willing his tears not to fall as he prompted, his eyes wide, glistening and terrified:

"D-Dad?"

He surveyed his father's expression for a few more seconds before reading the man's eyes for answers to the information he sought.

"Dad? D-Did he wake up?"

There was a lengthy pause, during which Kurt tried his best not to get too impatient. There was a reason his dad was protecting him from seeing Blaine, and he couldn't stand to think of what it was. Had Blaine been injured badly? Was he in pain? Oh God, Kurt suddenly began to inwardly panic – had Blaine remembered what had happened to him? Was he too upset to see anyone? This then raised the question to Kurt as to what exactly he was going to say, or how he was going to react when he saw Blaine. He hadn't seen his estranged best friend in six years, and suddenly he was visiting him in the hospital after a horrible, hateful attack. What was he doing? What could he possibly say or do to make this better? What could he do to make Blaine feel better? He didn't know the other boy anymore.

"He…" Burt answered croakily after a time, awakening Kurt from his depressing thoughts. "He woke up for a while… but he fell back asleep just now. He was… exhausted and…"

Burt's words trailed off and again, he looked unsure of what to say. He looked around vaguely, as if hoping for divine inspiration to strike and give him the words which would make the news as painless as possible. His eyes landed on Finn, who at that moment came to a stop just next to Kurt, shuffling his large feet, and digging his hands into his jeans pockets; a picture of awkwardness. Kurt also looked up at Finn, despite his desperation to eke as much information about Blaine out of his dad as possible. He suddenly felt exposed; like Finn and Carole, as much as he cared about them, were intruding on a private moment. Until now he had all but forgotten Finn, and had barely seen Carole standing with his dad as he exited the lift. Yet now he felt self-conscious; a shaking, crying mess in front of these two people who did not share this part of his history with him. Amidst his feelings of worry, fear and desperation, he then added guilt to the mix. He felt guilty for letting Blaine go through all of this, even though rationally he knew there was nothing he could have done to stop all of this from happening, and he now felt selfish for wanting this moment to be between his dad and he… and Blaine. Kurt wondered if this showed in his facial expression because Burt quietly asked Carole if she and Finn could please give them a few minutes alone. Like the fantastically understanding woman she was, Carole smiled and readily agreed.

"Sure, honey." She replied sympathetically, planting a gentle kiss on Burt's cheek and patting Kurt's shoulder comfortingly as she passed. "Come on, Finn."

Finn looked a little bewildered himself at the emotion in Burt's face, he having never seen the elder Hummel cry or show any tremble in emotion, other than when he was particularly proud of him or Kurt, and of course, when Burt and Carole announced they were engaged.

"Come on, sweetie," Carole encouraged her son, placing her arm around his lower back, and leading him in the direction of the lift again. "I'll buy you lunch at the café downstairs."

Finn noticeably perked up at the mention of 'lunch', and so without another thought as to the situation in front of him, turned and willingly walked with his mom to the lift. Kurt could not help but stare a little longingly after them as the lift doors shut. _He_ wanted to go back to this morning, where things were as simple as looking forward to lunch. At that moment, seeing the grave expression in his dad's eyes and knowing it didn't bode well, he even started to wonder whether he would rather be in Miss Holliday's history class. He felt his dad's hand on his shoulder, and enough pressure being exerted to lead him to some vacant uncomfortable-looking white, plastic chairs at the edge of the corridor. Kurt found he was almost glad of the choice, because his knees suddenly buckled as he reached the chairs, and he sank down gratefully. Burt eased himself into the chair next to him, before turning to face him, pausing for a brief moment to choose his words carefully.

"Kurt, bud," he began hesitatingly, and now, looking into his dad's face, Kurt saw that Burt Hummel seemed to have aged almost ten years since the morning, the weight of responsibility and worry on his shoulders was so strong. "Blaine…" His dad closed his eyes painfully as he forced himself through the next sentence. "Blaine… isn't… he doesn't seem to be… quite… himself… he's not the… confident… little guy we knew. He's… he's changed a bit-"

"W-What do you mean... he's changed?" Kurt asked, his lip trembling, his eyes widening at the thought of losing the Blaine he knew. The sweet, kind, gentle boy he had known couldn't have changed that much could he? He thought of the antithesis of Blaine and came up with someone who was full of hate; an active participant in violence. In short, he thought of someone like David Karofsky. Oh please no, he couldn't bear that.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Burt opened his eyes again and was quick to amend his statement, "No, no, nothing like that, son." He assured Kurt, who still looked at him doubtfully. "It's not a change for the worse… well… obviously it is… but… he's still a good, good person… believe me, bud… he has a good heart." Despite his dad's clear sorrow, a small smile suddenly played on his face. "Even during the short time he was awake, he asked how you were… if you were okay."

Kurt didn't know why, but this information somewhat calmed him. It handed back to him a piece of Blaine that he knew for sure was genuine and unchanged, despite all of these years apart; all of the years the other boy had suffered. The kindness and indisputable goodness was _his_ Blaine. Wait… _his Blaine_? Kurt could feel some of the tension rise within him again as his dad's expression turned solemn once more.

"But…" Burt continued sadly. "He's been… beaten down and… beaten down… to the point that that poor kid's afraid and… ashamed of his own shadow… and I don't think it's just because of what happened to him this morning."

Kurt couldn't stop a solitary tear from being released down his cheek as his dad spoke. He remembered clearly the broken boy who turned up on their doorstep with a bleeding head wound; he recalled the wide frightened hazel eyes of Blaine as Jonathan Anderson stormed into the bedroom that morning and yelled at him, dragging him by the hair downstairs. "Was it his dad?" Kurt choked out eventually, needing to hear the answer.

Burt swallowed, looking desperate to tell him otherwise, but Kurt could tell he was probably right, even from just looking at his dad. "He was crying… well… almost the entire time he was awake… but he kept repeating that didn't want to go back… he doesn't want to go back to Jonathan."

"Oh God," Kurt sniffed, staring fearfully at his dad, and furiously wiping at his now wet cheeks. "What did he to him, dad?"

Burt noticed his son's tears and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Even though Kurt was sure that nothing could really comfort him now, he appreciated the gesture. It was just further proof that _his_ dad was worth a hundred billion of Blaine's. "I don't know, bud. And I don't think he's ready to talk about it just yet. He was… in a… terrible, terrible state." Kurt wanted to cry again but forced himself not to; he didn't have any right to cry when Blaine was suffering so much. "He's hurting badly… he couldn't stop crying… or blaming himself-"

Kurt stared heartbrokenly, but incredulously at his dad, demanding, "What was he blaming himself for?"

Burt simply closed his eyes again, as if recounting the painful conversation in his head, "Everything – the attack, leaving you, being a 'bad person'-" At the last two words, Burt actually raised his fingers to form quotation marks, demonstrating just how much he disagreed with the suggestion.

"What?" Kurt spluttered, almost angrily. "He's not a bad person… he's… he's a good person... a really kind, _good _person."

"I think it's another aspect of self-loathing drilled into him by Jonathan." Burt growled, looking equally furious – not with Kurt, but at those who had done this to Blaine. And it suddenly occurred to Kurt that it my not have just been Jonathan who had demeaned and beaten Blaine down to this extent. Wherever the Andersons' had been living for six years, it was perhaps safe to say that Blaine hadn't found any kindness there, otherwise he wouldn't have risked the streets, the cold and the starvation to return all he way to Lima… to them. But why… what had Blaine done wrong?

When Kurt looked up at his dad again, Burt was staring at him from the corner of his eye, looking as if he was debating with himself whether or not to tell him something.

"Dad…" Kurt asked nervously. "Why does he think he's a bad person? Because of the attack? Because he left? He knows he's not to blame for those things doesn't he?"

"No, he probably doesn't actually, even though I tried to get that through to him." Burt sighed. "But… but it's not just that."

"Dad?"

Burt rubbed his eyes tiredly, "I… I honestly don't know if it's my place to tell you, bud."

Kurt's eyes widened, "Why? Is it… is it really bad? Did he… I don't know… hurt anyone?" He hated himself for even thinking such a thing, feeling even worse when Burt instantly shook his head, looking shocked.

"No… no, nothing like that, I promise."

"Well then, what?" Kurt pressed. He desperately wanted to talk to Blaine, to comfort his old friend, and he couldn't bear to think of Blaine calling himself a bad person for no reason. Especially since Blaine was probably the most genuine, kind-hearted person he had ever known – as well as his dad, of course.

Burt sighed, and again, Kurt could see the cogs in his father's head working frantically, as if weighing up the options. Eventually, he swallowed and said softly, "It might be easier on him… well both of you, if I tell you anyway." The eldest Hummel took a deep breath, "He thought he was a bad person because he's gay."

Kurt's eyes widened and his heart plummeted just a little. Blaine… his once best friend… is gay – like… like him? It hadn't even struck Kurt's mind that Blaine might be gay, in all the years he had thought about the boy since Blaine's departure from Lima. Sure, they had looked at fashion magazines and clothes together, and played tea parties and dress-ups… but Blaine had also liked football and other sports; he didn't mind getting a bit muddy or doing things that straight boys obviously did. Kurt didn't have any gay friends to talk to… who understood him properly, so the thought may have appealed to him had the reason for the topic not come slamming back down into the forefront of his mind. Blaine thought he was a bad person… because he was gay? Kurt thought of sweet little Blaine and the way the smaller boy always used to stick up for him against the bullies; against the haters, and wanted to cry. Was Blaine now one of those haters?

"So… so he'll think I'm a bad person too?" Kurt asked, hating the fact that his voice sounded so small and vulnerable, even at its already high-pitched level.

Burt whirled round to look at him again, his grip around Kurt's shoulder's tightening, "What?" he demanded incredulously. "No, of course not."

Kurt frowned, "But you just said-"

"He thinks he's a bad person, bud," Burt explained patiently. "because he's probably been made to feel that way by Jonathan… and now by that… rapist" he spat the word in disgust. "… by… everyone." Burt continued in a more gentle tone, "People here in Lima aren't so accepting of you, but at least you have me, and Carole, and Finn and friends who care about you. From the way he came all the way here to find us… I'm not sure Blaine's had anybody to give him that support." Burt paused for a second, a small smile gracing his lips once again as he continued, "I told him that you're gay too and I asked him myself… does that make you a bad person?"

Kurt looked at his dad desperately for answer, yet he was also intrigued by the smile on his face.

"He answered, and I quote: 'No, he's perfect'."

Kurt didn't know why it mattered so much what an old friend… his old _best friend_, thought of him and his sexuality, but it did. He couldn't explain his sudden burst of happiness, regardless of the situation, and blushed profusely at the complementary answer. Yes, Blaine was still… _his _Blaine. He was still the boy he had known. When he looked back over at his dad, Burt was surveying him silently.

"He cares about you… a lot." His father announced, very quietly, as if the emphasise the words.

"I… I know," Kurt found himself saying softly, even though he hadn't actually seen the other boy himself yet. "He always did."

"He didn't want you to see him because he's ashamed of the attack-"

"I don't care-" Kurt began to object, only to be cut off by his dad again.

"And he doesn't want to upset you." Burt continued pointedly, his arm retreating from around Kurt shoulders and clasping his hands in his lap. "And I don't want you upset either."

Kurt sighed, touched by his dad's concern, but now all he wanted to do was see Blaine; to comfort the younger boy and let him know that even though things were far from okay, he wasn't alone. "I'll be fine, dad."

"Are you sure?" Burt asked, forcing Kurt to meet his eyes, even though Kurt could tell his dad already knew that his mind had been made up. That was one of the many wonderful things about his father – he was caring, but he didn't mollycoddle. He allowed Kurt to make his own decisions, and trusted him to make the right ones.

Kurt swallowed, suddenly aware of what he was about to do, "Yeah."

"Kurt, you should know," Burt added, gravely. "He's… he's in a state… there's no telling how he'll react when he wakes up again-"

"I don't care." Kurt said firmly, making up his mind, and rising from his seat.

Burt did the same, but still apparently felt the need to tell him all of the facts. "- He's got a long road to recovery… he's got a fever, he's exhausted… he's lost a hell of a lot of weight… he's in pain."

"I know, dad." Kurt spoke loudly and decisively, silencing his father. "I know… I just… I _really_ need to see him."

Burt regarded him for a moment, before smiling slightly, and Kurt thought he detected a note of pride in his dad's expression. "Okay," the man nodded, walking Kurt to the door. "I think I already know the answer to this, but do you want me to go in with you?"

Kurt had to admit that he was tempted; having his dad there for support in case anything happened certainly seemed like a safe option, but then again, he selfishly wanted his own time with Blaine. He wanted to see his best friend… because he was still his best friend, even with six years of alienation. Blaine had been his one constant good memory to get him through high school. Plus, if he needed to cry again, he would do it as soon as he entered the room, without his dad or Blaine noticing. Regardless of what would happen when Blaine woke up, Kurt knew he would deal with it on his own. It was his responsibility. Blaine was his responsibility. The other boy had so often taken care of him when they were younger; it was his turn to look after and comfort Blaine.

"No," Kurt replied gratefully. "But thanks, dad."

Burt nodded, squeezing his shoulder as he rested his hand on the door handle. "Okay. I'm going to meet Carole and Finn in the café downstairs; Carole talked to the doctors about the Blaine's injuries and I want to find out what needs to be done." He paused. "But when he's ready I want him to come home with us. I take it you're okay with that?" he asked searchingly, but his eyes were twinkling slightly because he already knew Kurt's answer.

Kurt's face broke out into a true smile. Sometimes he just really loved and admired his dad. Of course, he was okay with that. Blaine certainly wasn't going back to Jonathan Anderson if he had anything to do with it, and he could t ell his dad was thinking exactly the same thing. "Yeah, that's great, dad." He answered honestly, and then tried to add a slightly lighter note to the tail end of the conversation with, "Good luck asking Carole and Finn though."

Burt shrugged, beginning to make his way down the corridor towards the lift, "I'll take my chances." He told Kurt over his shoulder. "He's family… he always was… and we're not letting him go this time."

With that, Burt Hummel disappeared into the lift, conveniently at the same moment his voice began to break with emotion. As the doors closed on his dad, Kurt had to stop his own threateningly overwhelming tears, partly at his father's statement, but also with the knowledge of who he was about to meet again. Taking a deep breath and a moment to compose himself, Kurt pulled the handle down and carefully eased the door open.

* * *

The sight of Blaine lying broken and small in the cot was a hundred times worse for Kurt than it had been for Burt. Kurt had been expecting it to be painful but he didn't anticipate it hurting this much. As soon as he entered the room, his eyes automatically ought Blaine's presence on the bed, and instantly he felt sick. He had known Blaine probably better than anyone; his younger friend had allowed him to see and hear just about everything. When the abuse got too much for Blaine, Kurt could always tell and had eventually persuaded him to confess all that was going on at home, despite Blaine's constant brave, confident persona. Thus, at the time, Kurt had heard every story behind every one of Blaine's sores, scars and tears, however watered down it may have been, because Kurt had always suspected that Blaine's home life was far worse than he made it out to be. Consequently, it was only natural for Kurt to now see the damage to Blaine in magnified detail; he was looking for the brokenness and the fragility… and he certainly saw it.

Kurt raked his eyes over the saline drip connected firmly to Blaine's hand, the numerous cuts, scars and bruises trailing up the arm, and the bruising displayed on Blaine's lower neck and shoulder, visible even with the flimsy blue hospital gown covering him. He took in the heavy cast around Blaine's other arm, making it virtually unmovable, and then, only then, did he summon the courage to drift his eyes upwards in search of the other boy's face. It was easier to take in the other injuries first, without looking at the face to whom the damaged body belonged, because then he could easily pretend that it was someone else in that hospital bed; that it wasn't Blaine Anderson, his best friend; that this was all either a big mistake or a sick joke.

Yet as his eyes finally rested on that face, all of these hopeless desires vanished, to be replaced by wracking sobs that shook Kurt's whole body. It was undoubtedly his Blaine. The younger boy's once meticulously gelled-back dark hair was free of its constraints, and longer than Kurt had ever seen it, with wet, sweaty curls starkly contrasting against the supremely white pillow case. A catheter was feeding into each of Blaine's nostrils connecting to another piece of equipment which Kurt was unable to identify, but he could only assume it was to help the other boy to breathe. Poor Blaine was certainly having trouble breathing steadily, because although his eyes were tight shut in sleep, he was frowning and releasing breath tremulously; occasionally shifting under the bedclothes, as if in the midst of a particularly horrific nightmare. The younger boy's lips were chapped and cut, and every so often elicited a heart-breaking little whimper.

Kurt cried harder than ever, though completely silently, so that he didn't wake the other boy, when he noticed exactly thin Blaine was. He had lost a ridiculous amount of weight since Kurt had last seen him; not only in his stomach, but also his arms were like fragile twigs that could break at any moment, and his face was thin and sallow. He had grown a little in height over the six years but not nearly to the extent that he should have. Kurt quelled the anger burning deep within him at the thought of Blaine enduring almost starvation. How long had the boy been force to live on the streets? How long had he been hurting like this?

However, as Kurt roughly swept aside his tears with his sleeve, for once with no mind as to what damage that would do to his designer shirt, he couldn't help but smile just a little. He was miserable that Blaine was visible and internally suffering so much, but at the same time, as he took in the younger boy in his entirety, he saw _Blaine_. He saw Blaine, who despite being so ill and so fragile, was undeniably handsome and utterly adorable.

Kurt sniffed once more, and wiped the last of his tears, feeling that he had cried enough tears that day to last an entire month's rainfall. Slowly, he approached the bed, and pulled up a white plastic chair, similar to the ones outside in the corridor. He eased himself down carefully, without looking, because now he was staring at Blaine Anderson, he was scared that if he looked away, then the other boy would disappear – and he definitely didn't want that again. He didn't know how long he just that there, staring at this boy, his best friend. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours. Had anyone else been there, he would have felt a little bit creepy sitting there just staring at another boy, especially with other kids' views at McKinley that just because he was gay, then he was obviously a predatory gay. Yet being there on his own with Blaine, with only the beeps and guzzles from the machinery around them for noise, he felt oddly… calm. He felt a little awkward, but that was to be expected because he was sitting by the bedside of a guy who he hadn't seen in six years. But just as he had been those six years ago, Blaine was a nevertheless soothing presence; even watching his sleeping face calmed Kurt enough to try to think of how to react to Blaine when he ultimately woke up. Should he ask questions? Should he tread carefully and just leave the other boy to it? Kurt certainly didn't want to intrude.

It was only when daylight started to fade outside that Kurt realised just how long he had been sitting there. He was considering leaving for a moment to talk to his dad, who surprising hadn't disturbed them, when Blaine suddenly let out a loud, terrified cry, and turned roughly under the bedclothes. Kurt looked back down at the other boy in shock, heartbroken at the mere sound of Blaine's sudden distress. More cries soon followed, crescendoing each time, and tossing with increasing vigour that Kurt was terrified that the younger boy would hurt himself more. It was only when Blaine started sobbing full-throttle, crying out unintelligible pleas, that Kurt shook himself out of his paralysed, fearful state, and realised that Blaine was in the throes of a particularly horrific nightmare. Kurt couldn't bear to see poor Blaine in so much pain, and forcing his own tears back down, set about trying to wake the younger boy up.

"Blaine?" Kurt called tentatively. "Blaine, wake up."

Nothing happened at all, except Blaine's cries grew louder. Kurt tried a second time, then a third, both of which had little luck. And then, without even thinking about it, Kurt knew instinctively what to do; as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He hesitated only briefly before reaching forwards and slipping a hand into Blaine's, squeezing it tightly, though with not enough pressure to hurt him.

"Blaine?" He called again, this time a little louder. "Honey, it's okay. It's alright."

Blaine cried harder than ever, and Kurt tried not to panic or get upset. He'd never really had cause to calm anyone to this extent before, except maybe Rachel Berry, his on-off friend, and Finn's girlfriend who constantly grew hysterical whenever she was denied a solo in glee club, and then, and then, Kurt was far less sympathetic. He essentially told her to snap out of it and stop being so self-centred… blunt, but unfortunately true. But Blaine wasn't crying because he'd been denied to lead spot in a show choir number; he was crying over something so devastating, Kurt couldn't even begin to imagine it. Kurt paused and accepted his moment of panicking: '_Oh God, I can't do this. I should get my dad. Or a doctor. Or…'_, before he brought himself back out of it again, more determined than ever.

"Blaine, honey?" Kurt called, raising the volume yet again, hoping to work his way into Blaine's nightmare and bring him back to the light. Without even realising what he was doing, he raised his other hand to Blaine's head and soothingly began to stroke the mess of tangled curls. "Come on, Blaine." He said softly, squeezing the other boy's hand again tightly. "Wake up… just wake up and it'll be okay. You're safe… you're here now… with me."

Kurt wasn't really sure or noticing what he was saying by this point; he just wanted to relieve Blaine of his painful nightmare, and little by little, he saw Blaine's dark eyelids start to lift slightly, as if waking.

"Blaine? Come on, that's it." Kurt encouraged softly, moving his hand from Blaine's hair to stroke the boy's cheek gently. "Wake up… you're okay… you're alright."

Blaine may have been waking up, but he certainly hadn't stopped crying, and when he finally surfaced fully into consciousness, he hunched over and tried to sit up, hiding his tears from the world, just as he always had. Kurt tried to comfort him as best he could, whilst simultaneously being utterly miserable himself, just watching Blaine's distress. He forced a smile onto his face for Blaine's benefit, even though the crying boy hadn't yet noticed him. He was probably aware that someone was there, judging from the fact that he kept trying to turn away, but he hadn't dared look up at who was with him. Kurt began to wonder if it would make a difference anyway. It absolutely broke his heart into a billion shattered pieces to see his Blaine in such a state; he had never been like this six years ago. He had been upset, but not broken.

"Sweetie, it's me," Kurt uttered softly, stroking the back of the other boy's hand tenderly with his thumb. "It's Kurt. Kurt Hummel. You're okay… you're safe now."

Little by little, Blaine calmed – or at least to a reasonable extent. Eventually, his wracking sobs were reduced to spasmodic hiccoughs and he seemed to gather the courage to open his eyes fully. Kurt couldn't help but notice that they were still that same mixture of amber and hazel; the same ones he had seen every time he opened his locker each day and saw that photograph of them on the makeshift tyre swing in his back garden. He waited patiently for those eyes to look up and see him; to meet his eyes… to recognise him… if he even would. He didn't have to wait much longer.

Slowly, Blaine lowered his eyes to his right hand, which Kurt still held gently, waiting for the other boy the snatch his hand away. He remembered reading somewhere that rape victims hated to be touched, or at least so soon after the incident in question. Yet to Kurt's surprise, and relief, Blaine didn't pull away immediately. Instead, taking note of the gentle contact, he raised his head agonisingly slowly until his eyes met Kurt's. They both froze for a minute, taking in the moment they thought would never happen: a reunion. After a devastating six year apart, here the both were; perhaps not well, but at least alive. Kurt thought he saw Blaine's hazel eyes soften in recognition for a moment, before the younger boy half-sobbed, half-whispered:

"K-Kurt?"

Kurt didn't know why he was relieved that Blaine remembered him instantly, but he was. He also didn't know why he smiled, but he did:

"Hey, you." His smile grew as he had an idea. He doubted Blaine would remember the first time they met, especially with the horror he had been through and was currently experiencing, but it was worth a try. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, his eyes glistening as he thought back to that conversation in the playground so long ago.

He watched as Blaine automatically grew self-conscious, just as his dad had described. He began to turn away, mumbling incoherent apologies about 'upsetting' him. Kurt felt tears begin to well in his eyes, partly at this boy's constant goodness, and partly due to his shaky statement which just so happened to mirror that which Kurt said eleven years ago in the playground. His dad had been right: it was still his Blaine, just with less confidence. "Y-yes, thank you."

Kurt could quite plainly see that Blaine wasn't okay; in fact it was the sheer opposite, and he wanted to help him. Smiling still, albeit shakily, he drew a perfectly folded handkerchief from his pocket and seeing that Blaine was in no position to do it himself, gently wiped the tear tracks from the younger boy's cheeks; dabbing at his eyes before placing the handkerchief onto the bedside drawer beside them. "_Now_ you look okay."

Slowly, ever so slowly, he saw recognition appear in Blaine's eyes. He could see the perfect memory flash before the other boy's eyes; see the momentary hope that everything was okay again; that they were young and carefree, before he looked back over to Kurt again, saw the hospital bedclothes and the guzzling machines, and chin trembling, he quietly began to cry again.

Kurt didn't know what to do other than curse himself for his stupid idea. He had only wanted to give Blaine a happy moment, but of course, those memories just brought the boy back to the harsh reality of what had happened to him. In that moment, Kurt did the only thing that was obvious to him: he leant forwards and enveloped Blaine in a tight embrace. Kurt felt Blaine's head nestle into the crook of his neck and the broken boy raised his right hand as much as he dared to cling desperately to Kurt's jacket, as if letting go would send him right back into a dark abyss, where he wasn't wanted. Except he was wanted. Very much so. He felt Blaine squeeze him with the little energy he had, and Kurt squeezed Blaine back.

"I-I-I'm s-s-so s-sorry, K-Kurt." The younger boy sobbed into his shoulder.

"Sshh," Kurt shushed his friend sadly, trying to recall the happy little boy he encountered in the school playground that day. "Don't be sorry. You're hurting. It's okay to cry."

"I-I'm j-just upsetting y-you," Blaine cried, gulping for air. "I'm t-trying to s-stop, I really am, b-b-but I can't."

"It's okay." Kurt whispered, even though he knew it wasn't for Blaine. It wouldn't be for a long time. "It's okay." He muttered over and over again like a mantra.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry f-for leaving you o-on y-your own."

Kurt's heart broke again, "Don't be sorry, Blaine. Please, don't think it's your fault. It's not."

"I p-p-promised you I'd p-protect you… that I w-w-wouldn't leave you." Blaine continued to fret.

"It's okay," Kurt hushed softly. "Really, it's okay. You don't need to protect me. It wasn't your fault."

"But I p-p-_promised_ you… we s-said we would a-always b-b-be th-there for each other…"

Kurt wanted to cry again. Blaine had taken everything to heart, and remembered it even when they were apart. Even after everything that had happened to him that morning, he was distressing over the fact that he had left Kurt behind

"I f-f-failed you." Blaine cried miserably.

"_No_." Kurt said firmly now, pulling back briefly to look the other boy in the eye to emphasise his point. "No, you didn't. You've helped me more than you'll ever know, Blaine." He said, thinking of the photo in his locker; the constant memories that got him through the day. "And we're here for each other now. You're never going back to him – to your dad. You're safe now." Blaine's face crumpled more during his tears, and Kurt drew the younger boy back into the hug. "What has he done to you, Blaine?" he asked miserably of no one in particular, whilst Blaine was too distraught to reply. "What has the world done to you?"

Blaine clung tighter to Kurt, as if it would stop him from shattering into a million pieces, "I-I was so s-s-scared, K-Kurt." He admitted, and Kurt, if it was possible, held him even closer.

"I know." He whispered wretchedly. "You don't have to be scared anymore. It's okay. You're safe."

"I'm a b-b-bad p-person." Blaine began mumbling into Kurt's shoulder, seemingly more for himself than Kurt's ears.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut; he didn't think he could handle much more of Blaine degrading himself like this. When his dad had mentioned this was the state Blaine was in, that had been bad enough, but to now see it live in front of him was breaking his heart over and over again. "_No_. No. You. Are. Not." He punctuated each word sharply to illustrate his point, trying his best to refrain from becoming teary-eyed. "You are such a good person, Blaine. You're probably the best person I know. You were _five years old_ when you stood up for me in that playground at recess… against a _thirteen year old_ bully who was over half your size… and you didn't have to do that-"

"It was the r-r-right th-thing to d-do." Blaine sniffed, as if it was obvious and Kurt's heart almost melted. "You w-w-were upset-"

"You see?" Kurt demanded lightly, moving one hand up and down Blaine's back to calm him. "You see, Blaine? You have such… goodness in you, despite what this awful world's given you."

He felt Blaine move his head against his shoulder and looking down, Kurt saw that the younger boy was sharking his head. Shaking his head. Kurt was almost frustrated that this boy couldn't see what he saw, but he was careful not to let this frustration show outwardly.

"Yes, Blaine," he argued loudly. "You_ are_ a good person."

At his loud, pressing tone, Blaine shrank back from him slightly, and Kurt experienced a twinge of guilt, but also fear and distress. He couldn't bear to see Blaine frightened of him. He wanted to make everything better, but he just did not know how. Why, oh why, couldn't he just have the power to make everything better for his friend. He was surprised and touched when Blaine stammered through uneven breathing:

"Y-Y-You're the g-good p-person, Kurt. If I'm any g-g-good at a-all it's b-b-because of y-you. Y-You're k-kind a-and f-f-funny and b-brave and-"

"_You're_ brave, Blaine." Kurt interjected desperately, holding the other boy tighter than ever. "For heaven's sake, you're the bravest person I've ever known. To have gone through what you have-"

To Kurt's horror, Blaine suddenly ripped himself out of the embrace and all but screamed wretchedly, "I'm not b-b-brave. You n-n-never ran from your b-bullies. I r-ran, Kurt. My… my d-d-dad… he… he…" Blaine screwed his eyes and face up so much that had it been anyone else, in any other situation, Kurt would have chided them for frown and age lines. However, it looked as if Blaine was physically in pain, straining; opening his mouth silently like a goldfish, desperately trying to recount something obviously important – perhaps the reason he had been on the streets… but he couldn't do it. "I ran b-because my d-d-dad… he…" Kurt saw the moment Blaine gave up trying to talk, and gathered the boy back into his arms, and was glad that Blaine sagged against him with a helpless sob of, "I _ran_, Kurt."

"That's okay," Kurt tried to reassure the other boy softly, whilst trying to ignore the dark, terrifying thoughts on what Jonathan Anderson could possibly have done to his son to make him flee with no money and no clothes on his back but the ones he'd been wearing when he was brought to the hospital. He hated to think how long had passed since Blaine had fled. Months? All that time with no place to stay and hardly any food or drink. No wonder he was so thin and weak. "Blaine, it's okay. You were scared. I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through."

Kurt watched as Blaine closed his eyes, almost shamefully, burying his head once again into the crook of Kurt's neck. "I-I-I ran a-a-and all I c-c-could think about w-w-was you. I knew you w-would h-have a l-l-life… without me… I knew it… and s-s-still I ran to y-y-you… disrupting y-y-your l-l-life… making y-y-you come all the w-way here… I'm s-so sorry."

Kurt squeezed Blaine tightly, forcing almost angry tears down, "Don't you dare be sorry for coming back, Blaine Anderson." He chastised the smaller boy softly, feeling him shake in his arms. "Don't you dare. For six years I hoped… waited for you to come back... every day, I waited. And now you're here, I don't think I've ever been so… miserable…" he admitted. "…but so happy at the same time. I hate what Jonathan's done to you… what that… that man this morning did to you… but I am just so, so happy you're home. So don't even think that you're '_disrupting'_ my life. You're part of my life."

With tears still trickling down his cheeks and with what appeared to be a supreme effort, Blaine raised his right arm, still with the drip needle connected and wrapped it tightly around Kurt's back, "I love you, Kurt." He whispered, his voice obviously sore from all the crying.

Kurt let out a soft smile and squeezed Blaine tightly in return, "Love you too." He replied quietly. "You're my best friend… always will be. We're Kurt and Blaine… best friends forever."

Blaine buried his head into Kurt's shoulder again so Kurt couldn't see his expression for a moment; he could only feel Blaine's breathing slowly calm, and with that, the cries eventually began to die down. "I missed you so much." The younger boy said quietly, with much more even breathing, and Kurt couldn't help but feel slightly happier that Blaine was calmer.

"I missed you too." Kurt confessed, smiling genuinely, pulling back out of the embrace, but still holding Blaine's forearms so that the smaller boy didn't lose comforting contact. Their eyes met in a rush of hazel and glasz and for the first time, Kurt thought he saw the corner of Blaine's mouth turn upwards ever so slightly; a ghost of an almost-smile… but it was a start. He couldn't wait to see that dazzling, cheeky smile again – the one present in the photograph in his locker. Kurt knew it would take a while, but he was confident it would happen someday, however long it took.

"Please don't go." Blaine begged softly, and Kurt thought the younger boy looked so much like a puppy with those wide, scared hazel eyes, he knew he wouldn't be able to say 'no' – not that he had any intention of leaving Blaine anyway.

"I won't." Kurt promised, releasing Blaine's forearms and instead reclaiming the boy's right hand with both of his, always mindful of the needle and tubing. "I'm not going anywhere."

He settled fully back into the white plastic chair, of which he had previously been perched on the edge, and made himself comfortable ready for the next few hours.

**Right then, there you have it - a Klaine reunion. Was it alright? Next up, possibly a bit of repetition with this scene or at least bits of it from Blaine p.o.v, with new stuff as well. Please review and/or let me know what you think, or if there's anything you'd like to see in particular.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Apologies for the delay. Thank you to you wonderful people who reviewed, favourited and followed the last chapter and I shall incorporate your suggestions as much as I can into the strory. As requested by some of you, the second half of this chapter is the that of the last chapter, but from Blaine's pov. They are quite different. The first half is a little insight into Blaine's home life and perhaps, why Grace Anderson felt the need to commit suicide. Hope you like the chapter :)**

_Blaine was roused from his peaceful sleep by the terrifying but almost familiar sound of a car door slamming from outside. Following that sounded the distinctly slurred voice of his father as he stepped out of the taxi – not his car, which had inevitably been left at whatever bar at which he had drunk himself silly, that night. Blaine rubbed his still sleep-filled eyes and sat up in bed, the duvet still wrapped tightly around him, just as his mommy had left it when he dozed off earlier. Had it been any other sound that disturbed him, he might have just rolled over and fallen asleep again, but even at just four years-old, he still recalled many of the times in which his father had arrived home in a drunken state, meaner than ever, determined to hurt his mommy, and constantly making her cry. The worst part was that he never said or seemed sorry, even though Blaine distinctly remembered his mommy telling him that you should say 'sorry' and mean it if you hurt or upset someone. _

_Biting his lip and cowering under his blanket as he heard the frequently fumbled attempts of his father to insert his key into the front door lock, Blaine heard Mr Anderson utter a violent string of swear words including a threat that sounded like "bitch is going to pay for locking me out". After that he heard a series of quick footsteps on the stairs; ones he recognised as his mommy's, because as usual, they were hurrying away from her husband's violent nature. A few seconds later, the form of Grace Anderson slipped into his bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. When she turned around again, Blaine saw that her face was a picture of absolute terror. _

"_Mommy?" he whispered softly, shifting in bed to get a better look; to check that she was alright. _

_Grace, who had seemingly been staring into space, almost paralysed with fear, looked over in the direction of the voice, and once she saw her little boy's vulnerable expression; his eyes wide with fear and concern, her own expression softened considerably, yet her chin jutted out slightly in determination. _

"_Hey baby boy," she greeted him in a hushed, soothing voice, despite the fact that Blaine could still see the terror in her hazel eyes, especially as his father's angry shouts could be heard from downstairs in the hall. "What are you doing up?" She approached him and ran a comforting hand through his dark curls; hair which was so like hers, it was often astonishing. _

"_Are you okay?" Blaine asked quietly, jumping in terror as the sound of Jonathan angrily smashing his plate of now cold dinner to the floor, resonated through the house from downstairs. _

_Grace, whose eyes had slowly been welling with tears, let out a watery chuckle at his thoughtful question, and gently lifted him into her arms, wincing as she balanced him on her hip, which Blaine knew was bruised after his father came home angry the night before. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, partly in an aim to comfort her and partly to adjust himself so that he wasn't placing so much weight on her injured hip. "I'm okay, baby." His Mommy replied, although she did not sound in the least bit okay. _

"_GRACE!" his father suddenly bellowed venomously from downstairs and this time, both of them jumped. "Get down here now, and explain to me why my dinner's cold! Are you trying to poison me?!" he demanded, his voice still clearly slurred. _

_Blaine watched as Grace bit her lip, trying not to release a full sob for fear of upsetting her four year-old son. But even Blaine knew that she was resigning herself to her fate, considering tucking him back in bed and then facing up to whatever pain Jonathan would put her through for that night, and he couldn't bear it. He had been on the receiving end of a few of his father's slaps, but he knew that his mommy had received much worse. _

"_Mommy," he pleaded, tears also beginning to form in his eyes, as he clung desperately to her, as if he could protect her by merely holing onto her. "Please don't go. Please don't let him hurt you." _

_Yet they both knew what happened if they disobeyed Jonathan Anderson. In public, he was the most charming, polite man, with a winning smile and a set of pearly white teeth; at home, he was a monster. Blaine could never understand what he had done to make his father hate him so much; what his mommy had done to make his father hurt her so often. They both heard Jonathan's angry roars from below; the throwing of various objects into the wall, and Blaine couldn't help but finally reveal how scared he was, burying his head into his mommy's neck. Grace took one look at her terrified little boy and made a split decision. She hurried hastily over to Blaine's walk-in closet and stumbled inside, lowering Blaine to the ground before shutting the doors behind them. Blaine did not even need to ask why she didn't lock the door; there was no lock. There were no locks on the inside of any doors in the house, except the front one; there was no privacy because Jonathan forbade it. He claimed it was so that Grace couldn't get up to any dirty little affairs, but Blaine often wondered if it was so that he and his mommy had nowhere to hide when something like this happened. _

_He tried not to cry as his mommy pushed him gently to the back of the closet, so that they both sat as far away from the door as possible, before wrapping her arms around him again tightly. _

"_What are we doing?" Blaine whispered as he buried his face into his mommy's baggy jumper. _

_There was a pause as they listened to the increasingly furious shouts of his father, audible even from inside the closet. "We're playing hide and seek, baby." Grace eventually replied, and even though it was pitch black inside the wardrobe, Blaine could feel his mommy shaking. Despite his own fear and tears, he wrapped his arms round her in a desperate attempt to comfort her; to do anything to make her happy. He couldn't remember the last time she had been truly happy, and he just wished he could make her so. _

_They heard slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs, and were both filled with an impending sense of dread. They heard his violent hurls of abuse, and Blaine knew his father was coming for them. They had hidden… they had disobeyed his orders and now Jonathan Anderson was truly angry. Blaine heard his mother's shaky breath speed up, and she hurriedly ripped some of his clothes from the hangers above them and frantically began to cover him. _

"_Mommy," Blaine sniffed, becoming truly scared now. "What are you doing?" _

_It appeared that Grace did not hear him because she didn't reply, gently placing one of Blaine's vest jumpers on top of his head, covering his face. _

"_Mommy, I can't see." He said, beginning to cry, not understanding what was going on. "Please stop it. What's going on?" _

_It was only when she heard his frantic pleas that his mommy stopped briefly, and kissed his forehead tenderly. "It's okay, baby." She assured him, even though they both knew that it wasn't as Jonathan's prowling feet came to a stop outside Blaine's bedroom door. "It's okay… it's a game, alright? This is a game." _

_Blaine couldn't possibly see how this was game when she was so upset, he was so scared, and when his father yelling expletives outside the door was obviously so angry, but he nodded anyway, feeling his mommy covering all traces of him with mountains of clothes. _

"_This is a game, sweetheart," Grace continued, even though they both knew she wasn't fooling anyone. "If your father looks inside here, I need you to keep absolutely still, and as quiet as a mouse, okay? If you don't then your father will find you and you lose the game, understand?"_

"_Yes." Blaine replied in a small voice, not understanding what was going on, but trusting his mother all the same, especially with the increasing urgency of his father hammering on Blaine's door, apparently in his drunken state no realising that there were no locks preventing him from just walking in. _

"_Good boy." His mommy whispered back, stopping as she was apparently satisfied that he was entirely covered up. "If your father makes me come out of here, then you're not to follow okay?" _

"_Mommy-" Blaine began to object. _

"_I'm serious, Blaine." Grace sniffed, though her voice had hardened to emphasise her point. "Promise me that you won't say anything, you won't follow me, and that you won't leave this closet okay?" _

"_But-"_

"_Promise me." Grace said in as stern a voice as she could manage, especially, with his father beating down the door. _

_Blaine didn't want to promise. He wanted to stop his father hurting his mommy, but he knew he couldn't. He knew he couldn't disobey his mommy either, and he was so, so scared. Eventually he squeezed his eyes shut, his chin trembling and stuttered, "I-I promise."_

_At that precise moment, Blaine's bedroom door slammed open as Jonathan must have finally remembered there wasn't a lock, and the room was filled with his booming, violent voice: _

"_Are you in here, you bitch?!" he demanded, and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut beneath his hiding place. "You know I don't like it when you hide from me! Just face up to what you've done, you pathetic wimp!"_

_Blaine held his breath as he listened to his father's footsteps travel around the room outside the closet. _

"_GET HERE NOW!" His father suddenly roared, and Blaine clenched his teeth to prevent a sob from escaping. His mommy wasn't quite so careful and she elicited a loud whimper. His father's raging stopped for an instant before loud footsteps travelled in their direction. A second later, Blaine heard the closet door swing open and small rays of light were cast into the darkened cupboard; he closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the rage to begin again. It came. _

"_YOU LITTLE BITCH!" Jonathan screamed, stomping forwards towards them and even from beneath the pile of clothes, under which Blaine was hiding, he heard his mommy release a small sob as his father dragged her out of the closet. Blaine supposed he should have felt glad that thanks to his mommy, his father did not see him, but he wasn't. Instead, he listened in distress as the closet door slammed shut, and his mother was shoved violently onto Blaine's wooden bedroom floor. _

"_WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING IN THERE?!" Mr Anderson's voice sounded clearly through the wood of the closet. _

_His mommy clearly didn't reply because she was now sobbing so much. Blaine began to cry silently into the vest jumper that had been placed carefully over his head. He wanted to do something, but he had promised not to. And he was still so scared. Why, oh why, did his father hate them so much? _

"_Answer me!" Jonathan roared. "You were hiding weren't you?!" Blaine heard the distinct sound of a slap resonate against his mommy's skin, issued by his father, their tormentor. "WEREN'T YOU?!" _

"_Y-y-yes." Blaine heard his mommy sob, and at her pain, he began to cry even more, yet still silently, just as Grace had instructed. _

"_And why were you hiding from me?" Mr Anderson demanded, as though it wasn't obvious. "WHY?!" he bellowed when his wife didn't reply instantly. "Was it because you let my dinner go cold? WELL?!"_

"_Y-yes J-John." Grace sobbed in return. _

"_Why are you so pathetic?" Jonathan spat aggressively. "Why can't you do anything right?" _

"_I don't know… I'm s-so s-s-sorry." _

_Blaine continued to cry despairingly quietly into his clothing, still unmoving, just as his mommy had instructed. He tried to hold his breath when his father screamed: _

"_WHERE'S THE LITTLE RUNT?!" _

"_H-He's a-at a s-s-sleepover." Blaine heard his mommy lie blatantly, and he felt suddenly sick. Was she going to get hurt because of him? He tried to summon the courage to move, but he couldn't. _

"_HE'S WHAT?!" His father exploded. _

"_He's at a s-s-sleepover at a f-friend's h-h-house." Grace continued hysterically. _

"_The fucking runt doesn't have any friends!" Jonathan slurred, and Blaine heard another punch be issued in his mommy's direction, followed by her desperate sobs and cries of pain. Blaine lost all ability to consider his promise to his mommy and he finally moved, slamming his hand to his mouth to stifle his sobs, some of the garments slipping off him in the process. Slowly, he clambered to his knees and crawled slowly towards the closet door, looking through the keyhole. As soon as he saw what was happening, he wished he had stayed underneath his safe haven of clothes. His mommy was lying sprawled on the floor, weeping into her arm whilst his father aimed consistent kicks at her abdomen and back, or anywhere he could reach in his drunken state. Blaine wanted it to stop. He wanted to cry out, but he couldn't. Instead he rammed his eyes shut and slid into the corner of the closet, crying silently. _

"_I-It's a f-friend from k-kindergarten." Grace sobbed, moaning in pain as Blaine heard his father's foot connect with some other part of her body. _

"_YOU BITCH!" Mr Anderson roared. "WHEN DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO LET HIM GO ON A SLEEPOVER?!" His wife just continued to cry. "WHEN?" _

"_Y-You d-d-didn't." _

"_That's right I didn't, you cunt!" Blaine winced at the violence in his father's words. Why did this have to happen? Why was his father doing this? "Now the world and its wife are going to see his bruises." Sure enough, Blaine could still feel the bruises on his wrists and face from where his dad had staggered home, not drunk, but still angry, two nights ago. "And if they come calling at my door asking why they're there, then it's all your fault!" Jonathan's voice rose in a crescendo until he was roaring himself hoarse. "DO YOU WANT ME TO GO TO JAIL, IS THAT IT?" _

"_N-no John… of c-c-course not-"_

"_YOU DO, DON'T YOU?!" the eldest Anderson bellowed in fury. "AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE DONE FOR YOU AND YOUR PATHETIC KIDS-"_

"_O-Our k-kids." Grace interjected bravely, and screamed in agony as Jonathan released yet more kicks to her anatomy. _

"_HOW DARE YOU INTERUPT ME!" Mr Anderson raged. "HOW DARE YOU! THEY'RE YOUR KIDS! ONE WHO RUNS OUT AT THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY AND CUTS HIMSELF OFF AND THE OTHER… A FUCKING LITTLE, WIMPY MOMMY'S BOY!"_

_Blaine buried his face into his knees and slammed his hands over his ears, desperate for it all to stop. He knew that it was all his fault. His mommy was being hurt because she was protecting him, and because he didn't have to courage to get out of the closet and do something, she was in so much pain. Blaine wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to stop. _

"_Get on the bed!" His father suddenly aimed coldly at his mommy. _

_If it was possible Blaine clamped his hands over his ears even tighter as his mommy begged desperately, "Please… no… John… not now-"_

"_DO IT!" _

"_John, p-please… you're drunk-"_

"_DO IT!" Another slap resounded around the room, followed by scrapings along the wooden floor – the sound of Grace Anderson stumbling to her feet. _

"_P-please J-John... it's Blaine's b-bed... w-we can't… we can't d-do th-that here-" _

_Another slap echoed, and then, "DO IT! If you love me, do it! Show me that you love me!" _

_Blaine's breathing became heavy, like something was compressing his lungs, preventing him from receiving the amount of air required. His vision was becoming blurry, and his head was reeling; the world before him began to spin. The image of meticulously ironed clothes began to fall away, and the metal hangers swirled into the form of majestic oak tree branches, high above his head; the rumpled pile of clothes he had left behind on the floor converted into a large pile of fallen, orange and brown leaves. The sound of his mother's screams grew louder, and more eerie in his ears, before he realised that it was he who was screaming. And then he felt it: white hot agony ripping through his backside, like he was being torn apart. His father's rage turned into grunts and sneers from somewhere behind him, and Blaine reached round desperately to see what was going on, only to realise he was lying face down on some muddy ground with a large, devastatingly strong man whose face was covered by a balaclava, pushing himself roughly, deeper and more painfully inside Blaine with each second that passed. Blaine really couldn't breathe anymore, yet he screamed for all he was worth; screamed for help… someone… anyone to come. _

"_Shut the fuck up!" the man growled threateningly into his ear from behind before manoeuvring a hand between Blaine's legs and yanking his penis roughly. Blaine cried out again in utter agony, followed by a few more sobs of distress as his attacker thrust inside him in such a way that Blaine felt as though his entire lower half was on fire. _

"_S-Stop." Blaine begged hysterically, even though his brain could barely remember how to articulate words; he couldn't recall anything other than the notion of pain. "P-P-Please s-s-stop. H-Hurts… p-p-please." _

_However, his attacker paid him no heed. Instead, the hulking man laughed coldly and kept going, grunting with the force of his thrusts. Blaine's brain could only think of one word: _

_Help!_

"Blaine? Blaine, wake up."

_An angelic voice penetrated Blaine's desperate distress, and he began to wonder what the man inside him had done to him. Had he done something to make Blaine hallucinate? Was he dreaming, because there was no way he was ever going to hear that voice again; that beautiful voice… kind, and soft and gentle. Another jeer and push from his attacker brought him back and he released another sob. _

_He suddenly felt something soft and gentle caress his hand amongst all the pain, and Blaine tried desperately to look around and see what it was, only to be pulled back in place by his torturer. _

"Blaine? Honey, it's okay. It's alright."

_Blaine couldn't remember the last time he had felt alright. All he could feel was the constant agony; the one thought. Why was there so much pain in this world? Why couldn't he stop it? _

"Blaine, honey?" _Why, oh why, could he hear that voice? What was happening to him? Was he going insane? If he was, Blaine decided that he liked it. Slowly the pain and the images around him were dissolving into dust as he listened desperately and clung to his one lifeline: that voice. He felt something equally as gentle as that in his hand, caress his head and Blaine fought with every little bit of strength he had to cling to this comfort, because it made everything bad thing drift away._ "Come on, Blaine." _The soft voice came again, this time accompanied by a squeeze of the hand. After a moment's thought, Blaine realised what the feathery object in his hand was… another hand… squeezing his._ "Wake up… just wake up and it'll be okay. You're safe… you're here now… with me."

And suddenly, everything landed with a resounding thump. He realised that he had been sleeping, but although he was no longer screaming, he still could not seem to stop crying. Slowly, everything came back to him as he heard the guzzles and frequent bleeps from the machinery around him. He remembered that he was in the hospital… again. He remembered everything from the moment he left his father to the… to the… the attack. And the worse part was that it had all been real. The nightmare had been real and there was nothing he could do to stop it, or erase it from ever happening.

"Blaine? Come on, that's it. Wake up… you're okay… you're alright." A familiar voice soothed.

Slowly, he opened his eyes a fraction and took in the white hospital walls yet again. He continued to cry as he realised that someone was there with him, watching him, judging him… hating him… waiting to hurt him, and he tried his best to turn away and hunch over so that the person couldn't see him or his tears. It would hurt less that way when the blows came. However, as he moved he felt excruciating agony erupt down his backside and the lower half of his body once more, which only served to make him remember what had happened yet again, and with it, brought more hysterical tears. He couldn't stop. Oh he desperately wanted to stop hurting... to stop feeling so… constantly broken, like he was staring up from the bottom of a deep, dark abyss, feeling… no… knowing that there was no way out.

"Sweetie, it's me," The voice uttered softly, stroking the back of his hand tenderly. "It's Kurt. Kurt Hummel. You're okay… you're safe now."

Suddenly, even through his despairing cries, the high-pitched voice struck a chord with Blaine. He knew that voice, and it was truly wonderful. The softness and comfort it provided was incredible; it gave Blaine a sense of hope… that maybe, just maybe, things could be okay. But surely… no, _he_ couldn't be there, could he? And then Blaine recalled his encounter with Burt Hummel; he remembered the kind man's words… that Kurt was coming. Gradually, Blaine felt himself calm slightly, and he became aware of a warm, tender pressure on his right hand. Seconds passed as Blaine lowered his eyes to his right hand, and noted the familiar hand on top of his. It was soft and smooth, and the touch was soothingly feather-light – a deliberate attempt to comfort him, not to cause pain. He knew that touch, and that perfect, pale, almost porcelain skin tone.

Slowly, ever so slowly, allowing himself time to calm down, because he was now almost sure that this person beside him would never hurt him, Blaine raised his throbbing head inch by inch until his eyes met… _his_. He was beautiful. From his sparkling glasz eyes, to his now perfectly coiffed brunette hair, to the way his cheeks, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back at him, the other boy had changed so much, yet strangely, almost hadn't changed at all. He was just as Blaine had imagined him to be at six years older. And he was _perfect_. Blaine could smell the older boy's lingering scent – like coconut and hairspray, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the feelings of safety and hope… and most of all, for the first time in six years, he felt like he was home. The person he loved more than anyone else in the world was there, and perhaps… it was going to be okay. He couldn't believe Kurt was there. Amongst his overwhelming emotions, Blaine struggled to find his voice until he released a half-whisper, half-sob:

"K-Kurt?"

"Hey, you." Kurt smiled, his voice light and full of warmth.

Blaine watched as the older boy's smile grew slightly, his face a picture of tenderness and recognition, and he wanted to release a sob of relief. Kurt wasn't repulsed by him, and what he had done… what had been done to him. He didn't seem angry or too distressed being there. Blaine resolved that now he just had to be brave, for once in his life, to make sure Kurt didn't become upset. He had to protect Kurt. "Are you okay?" the older boy was asking gently, his eyes watering, as if sensing some of what was going on in his mind.

Seeing Kurt's eyes slowly fill with tears hit Blaine like a ton of bricks. He had only just resolved to protect Kurt… to stop upsetting him, and already he had failed. He was a failure just as his father had always yelled at him. He had abandoned Kurt; left him to the bullies and the hurt, and now this incredible boy was asking Blaine if _he_ was okay, even though he was clearly upset.

A sense of panic returned to Blaine; the initial calmness upon seeing Kurt again slowly ebbing away. He looked away in shame, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the other boy now for fear of hurting him even more. "S-S-Sorry… upsetting you." He mumbled sorrowfully, berating himself inwardly for not even being able to even formulate a proper coherent sentence. He was pathetic like his father said and he almost began to wish the other boy would leave him in disgust. Then he realised he hadn't answered Kurt's question, "Y-yes, thank you."

Blaine, who was still focusing his gaze on the bedclothes, heard a rustle from beside him, and his heart began to pound rapidly with renewed panic. Despite his despairing thoughts, Blaine realised that he didn't want Kurt to leave. He was torn between wanting to protect Kurt, and from the warm, inviting comfort Kurt provided him with, just by merely being there. Kurt was home. After everything that had happened, and after being so, so scared, he finally felt as if things could be okay with Kurt there. He looked up to try and communicate this to the older boy at the exact moment the rustling stopped, and Blaine found himself staring at a pure, perfectly pressed handkerchief in Kurt's hand. He watched numbly as Kurt reached forwards and with the cloth, gently wiped tears tracks from Blaine's face that the younger boy hadn't even noticed. He just allowed the comforting material to drift over his face, despite the initial wince he couldn't help but let out as the handkerchief came into contact with one of his bruises. After a few seconds, Kurt placed the square cloth onto the bedside drawer, and turned back to face him. "_Now _you look okay."

Kurt's words drifted into the forefront of Blaine's mind, and slowly, ever so slowly, he recognised the reference. He remembered a time when things perhaps weren't so bad; in fact, that day, in that moment, things had been wonderful. That day he had met Kurt, the most perfect, kind, gentle, brave person he had ever known. He recalled the incident involving the notebook of drawings, and the way in which Tanner Westwood's gang had surrounded Kurt in a threatening manner Blaine knew all too well. He remembered the joy he had felt at realising he had a best friend, followed by the good times they had shared together, all mixed together in one go. That moment in the playground when Blaine had offered Kurt his tissue had instigated a friendship that Blaine had carried with him in his heart through everything. He and Kurt had undergone all the tribulations of school, and life together; they had dreamed a dream of travelling to New York and becoming performers, together. And then Blaine had left Kurt. He had left him behind all by himself in Ohio, setting in motion a very different life for them both. Suddenly, Blaine couldn't stop constant memories from flashing through his head of the night he had run from his father… of the attack. He could feel the lingering pain in his backside; he was remorselessly reminded of the fact that he had lost his virginity in such a way, to a stranger… to a… rapist. He hadn't been ready, and he hadn't known much, if anything, about sex; he had heard it was supposed to feel good. But it hadn't. It had hurt… so, so much, and now Blaine just felt so dirty – no one would ever want him now. It occurred to him that perhaps this was his punishment for running from his father that night; from the situation that might have occurred. Perhaps it was his penance for… for being gay.

He looked up at Kurt, perfect Kurt, was alarmed to see that his eyes were filling with more tears, and feeling overwhelmed with guilt and despair, Blaine began to cry quietly again. Seconds later, he was slightly alarmed to find a pair of arms enveloping him warmly, before he realised who it was and more or less fell into the embrace. Despite feeling so guilty for upsetting Kurt, Blaine was drawn desperately to the comfort the older boy offered and had always provided. He nestled his head into the crook of Kurt's neck and ignoring the stabbing pain the needle elicited in his right hand when he moved it, he clung desperately to the back of the older boy's jacket, feeling as though Kurt was the only thing preventing him from shattering into a billion pieces. He suddenly felt so selfish and so weak, and couldn't stop himself from sobbing in further misery; probably dampening Kurt's noticeably designer jacket considerably. But the loyal older boy didn't say a word about it, perhaps because Blaine too could feel Kurt's tears against his hospital gown.

"I-I-I'm s-s-so s-sorry, K-Kurt." Blaine sobbed inconsolably into Kurt's shoulder, wishing he could stop crying; wishing he could be brave and comfort Kurt instead, but the younger boy felt as if he just couldn't control anything anymore, even his own tears.

"Sshh," Kurt shushed him softly and soothingly, just making Blaine feel even guiltier "Don't be sorry. You're hurting. You need to cry."

Blaine indeed felt as if he needed to cry, but he felt that if he listened to his body's demand to cry, then that would be all he ever did. And with his tears came Kurt's pain. He could see it. He had always seen it.

"I-I'm j-just upsetting y-you," he cried, gulping desperately for air in a bid to stop his tears, but his attempts were in vain. "I'm t-trying to s-stop, I really am, b-b-but I can't." He needed Kurt to understand that he couldn't stop; that he wasn't deliberately trying to be selfish. He couldn't bear to see the other boy hurting.

"It's okay." Kurt whispered gently, but his face was sad and full of pain. "It's okay." The older boy muttered over and over again like a soothing mantra.

Blaine so badly wanted it to be okay, because he truly didn't want to feel so broken anymore. And more importantly, he wanted Kurt's pain to stop. He wanted to express how genuinely sorry he was for abandoning him six years ago; let him know that he had tried to fight against his father as he was dragged from the Hummel household, but he just hadn't been strong enough.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry f-for leaving you o-on y-your own." He cried, burying deeper into Kurt's shoulder; not wanting to see the disappointment in the other boy's eyes.

"Don't be sorry, Blaine. Please, don't think it's your fault. It's not." Kurt's voice soothed him, and despite the older boy comfortingly telling him that he wasn't to blame – something Blaine had desperately craved to hear over the past six years, he couldn't help but wonder if Kurt was just saying these things to make him stop crying.

"I p-p-promised you I'd p-protect you… that I w-w-wouldn't leave you." Blaine fretted, all the guilt and shame of the past years flowing out in an endless stream of anguish.

"It's okay," Kurt hushed softly into Blaine's ear. "Really, it's okay. You don't need to protect me. It wasn't your fault." He sounded so convincing that Blaine so badly wanted it to be true.

"But I p-p-_promised_ you… we s-said we would a-always b-b-be th-there for each other…" Blaine recalled that pact they had made one time behind the greenhouse at school, after the Tanner Westwood and his cronies had given Kurt a particularly hard time. It had been the week after Kurt's mom had died, and Kurt had been so miserable that Blaine had wanted nothing more than to protect the other boy from the rest of the horrors in the world; to make him happy again. Yet now here he was, bringing his own problems to Kurt's new and quite possibly, now happy life. "I f-f-failed you." He realised distraughtly.

"_No_." Kurt said firmly, pulling back briefly to look him in the eye, and Blaine almost recoiled in fear at the forceful venom in his response, and the impassioned look in the other boy's eyes. "No, you didn't. You've helped me more than you'll ever know, Blaine. And we're here for each other now. You're never going back to him – to your dad. You're safe now."

Blaine couldn't stop himself from sobbing again at the mere mention of his father, yet part him this time felt relieved. Kurt said he wasn't going back to his father. And he trusted Kurt, more than anyone in the world. He thought of the manic look in his father's eyes that terrible night all those months ago and seized up in complete fear, clinging desperately to Kurt for anchorage. All at once, he dared to hope that Kurt was right; that he was safe. For the first time in years, being in Kurt's arms… he truly felt safe. At the sheer overwhelming realisation, Blaine began to sob harder than ever, and he felt Kurt pull him back into the tight embrace with a devastated mutter of, "What has he done to you, Blaine? What has the world done to you?"

Blaine clung tighter to Kurt, burying his head into the older boy's shoulder, "I-I was so s-s-scared, K-Kurt." He finally felt safe enough to admit, closing his eyes tightly as he fought to block out memories of that night, and Kurt, if it was possible, held him even closer.

"I know." Kurt whispered to him sympathetically. "You don't have to be scared anymore. It's okay. You're safe."

Blaine forced himself not to listen to Kurt's comforting words, however tempting they were. He just knew that he was being extremely selfish, taking so much from Kurt when he had given so little to him. "I'm a b-b-bad p-person." He berated himself quietly into Kurt's shoulder, needing to say it out loud to make sure his brain kept remembering it. He recalled all of the times his father had told him this. He had said it so often to him, and with such venom, that Blaine decided it must be true… especially after what he had discovered upon leaving his father that night. The fact that Kurt was here, comforting him instead of living his life was clear proof of this.

Blaine had not meant for Kurt to actually hear his words, and jumped upon hearing the firm tone to the other boy's voice; he sounded almost angry. That made Blaine feel even worse; he didn't want to make Kurt angry, or upset. "_No_. No. You. Are. Not." Kurt argued with him. "You are such a good person, Blaine. You're probably the best person I know. You were five years old when you stood up for me in that playground at recess… against a thirteen year old bully who was over half your size… and you didn't have to do that-"

Blaine couldn't even contemplate Kurt's words. Of course it had been something he had to do. Kurt could have ended up getting hurt; he was already crying when the bullies tossed his precious notebook from person to person. Even at five years-old, without any knowledge of Kurt Hummel at all, he hated to see the other boy so upset. And Blaine had witnessed and experienced bullying first hand at home; he knew what Tanner Westwood and his gang had been doing was cruel, unjust and inhumane. "It was the r-r-right th-thing to d-do." Blaine sniffed, not seeing at all how that supposedly made him a good person. He just did what any person would or should have done in that situation.

"You see?" Kurt was berating him lightly, moving one hand up and down his back soothingly, and Blaine so badly wanted to lean into the touch; to just accept the temptingly reassuring words as true. But he could not. "You see, Blaine? You have such… goodness in you, despite what this awful world's given you."

Blaine couldn't allow these words to be said of him any longer. He did not deserve their content, thoughtfulness or dedications to him, because deep down, he knew they weren't true. Kurt was just, as always, seeing the best in people. He looked at Kurt and saw the image of perfection: kind, compassionate, decent, beautiful, and with such morals that he knew he could never compete with him. He did not deserve Kurt; he wasn't good enough, and he knew it. Blaine shook his head desperately in a bid to shut out Kurt's insistent, though well-meaning untruths.

"Yes, Blaine," Kurt disputed so loudly that Blaine almost leapt out of his skin. "You_ are_ a good person." Unable to prevent his automatic responses, Blaine shrank back in fear. He really hadn't meant to make Kurt frustrated with him, yet as always, his actions were useless… _he_ was useless.

"Y-Y-You're the g-good p-person, Kurt." He stammered honestly, trying, without to success to get his breathing back on an even keel. "If I'm any g-g-good at a-all it's b-b-because of y-you. Y-You're k-kind a-and f-f-funny and b-brave and-"

"_You're_ brave, Blaine." Kurt interrupted him. It felt so good to have someone, especially Kurt believing in him, but it was wrong to accept this praise. He wasn't brave. He was anything but. "For heaven's sake, you're the bravest person I've ever known. To have gone what you have-"

Something in Blaine snapped as Kurt continued to try to reason with him. He could not and would not lead Kurt along any longer. He felt so comforted by the older boy's words, but he knew Kurt would be ashamed of him when he confessed the truth. Kurt had always believed in him, and relied on him to be the strong one… the brave one, when they were younger. Would he want him anymore when he discovered that Blaine was a coward; when he realised that Blaine had disrupted his new, perfect life? He sincerely doubted it. Sobbing, Blaine ripped himself from Kurt's tight embrace and screamed wretchedly to be heard:

"I'm not b-b-brave, K-K-Kurt. You n-n-never ran from your b-bullies. I r-ran, Kurt. My… my d-d-dad… he… he…" Petrifying images of that terrible night flashed before his eyes, and Blaine screwed his eyes tight shut in a bid to squeeze them out. It wasn't working. He saw his father's manic face as he threw him against the wall and held him in a deadly grip by the neck; he recalled the lack of air to his windpipe and the almost peaceful thoughts that finally he was going to die. He could still see in his minds eye the half-naked woman just standing a mere few metres away, in shock, but doing nothing to help. Blaine felt the weight of his father's hissed words adding to his already very painful, physical injuries. "I ran b-because my d-d-dad… he…" He tried so desperately to recount all this to Kurt, the one in whom he had always confided, but this time, he couldn't find the words. He did not want to say it out loud because then it became so very real. Finally, at long last, he gave up his straining attempts, just as Kurt drew him back into his arms, and Blaine sagged tearfully against him, spent: "I ran, Kurt."

"That's okay," Kurt kept reassuring him softly "Blaine, it's okay. You were scared. I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through."

Blaine didn't want Kurt to imagine what he had experienced. He wanted to protect him forever. Yet selfishly he had come to Lima to seek out Kurt, because he needed him, and because he loved him... but that didn't matter. Kurt mattered, and he had just invaded Kurt's life. He closed his eyes in shame, burying his head once again into the crook of Kurt's neck. "I-I-I ran a-a-and all I c-c-could think about w-w-was you." He tried to justify; again, he felt the need to explain himself and his actions. "I knew you w-would h-have a l-l-life… without me… I knew it… and s-s-still I ran to y-y-you… disrupting y-y-your l-l-life… making y-y-you come all the w-way here… I'm s-so sorry." he apologised desperately, trying to formulate a plan as to where he could go after he left the hospital. He couldn't put his burdens on Kurt and his family, regardless of Burt's generous offer to let him stay with them.

He felt Kurt squeeze him tightly before the older boy chastised him, "Don't you dare be sorry for coming back, Blaine Anderson." Blaine began to shake with the weight of everything upon him. "Don't you dare. For six years I waited for you to come back... every day, I waited. And now you're here, I don't think I've ever been so… miserable…" For a split second, Blaine felt crushed. "but so happy at the same time. I hate what Jonathan's done to you… what that… that man this morning did to you… but I am just so, so happy you're home. So don't even think that you're '_disrupting'_ my life. You're part of my life."

Blaine listened to Kurt's impassioned speech with tears continuing to trickle down his cheeks. He was so confused, and so scared, but he knew that he was so lucky to have Kurt supporting him. He couldn't help but feel relieved that Kurt wanted him in his life; as part of his life. Kurt even referred to his return to Lima as being 'home'. Kurt truly was his home, and although life was far from good at the moment, he decided that with Kurt there, just maybe, he could pull through. With supreme effort, Blaine raised his right arm and wrapped it tightly around Kurt's back, needing to convey how he felt. "I love you, Kurt." He admitted in a whisper, his voice now sore from his constant tears.

He felt Kurt smile against his sore head and squeeze him tightly in return, "Love you too. You're my best friend… always will be. We're Kurt and Blaine… best friends forever."

Blaine knew he should have felt glad that Kurt still considered them best friends. In fact, it was more than he could ever have hoped for, and he knew he was being so selfish. Yet he couldn't help but experience a sensation of sadness… heartbreak. Kurt loved Blaine in a very different way than he loved Kurt. But then again, why should he expect more? He didn't have the right. He was a bad person, and he was being irrational. He had been absent from Kurt's life for six years. He shouldn't even deserve friendship. And now, after that morning, Blaine wasn't even sure he could ever be in a relationship… with anyone. It hurt so much. Blaine buried his head into Kurt's shoulder, feeling so confused, but glad of the safeness Kurt made him feel. They sat in silence, and Blaine felt his breathing slowly calm, the crying dying down with it.

"I missed you so much." He confessed, quite surprised by the level of calmness he now felt, just by sitting there with Kurt.

"I missed you too." Kurt replied instantly, smiling and him gently, pulling back out of the embrace, but still holding Blaine's forearms, and Blaine was glad of the remaining comforting contact.

Their eyes met and Blaine felt almost breathless by the beauty of Kurt's eyes, which tentatively changed colour according to the positions he took up in the chair by the bed. The other boy was utterly beautiful. The man who ultimately married Kurt would be very lucky indeed. If Blaine hadn't been feeling so completely depressed and full of despair, he might have smiled. He tried to, but could only manage the slightest upturn of the mouth. He didn't feel as if he could ever smile again.

"Please don't go." He begged softly, feeling so selfish, yet so much better with Kurt there. Kurt was his still his best friend and his presence made him stop thinking, even if only for a few moments, about all the horrors that had occurred… that morning, and before.

"I won't." Kurt promised, still smiling so softly, wrapping Blaine's right hand in both of his, and Blaine almost felt like he could relax. "I'm not going anywhere."

**Yes, angsty chapter. After everything that's happened to him, Blaine's in pain and is very frightened and confused; he doesn't think he deserves kindness, but he can't help feeling something for Kurt (he always has), regardless of the fact that they haven't seen each other in six years. And the story goes on! At this rate, this story is going to be very long - hope people don't mind! If people have any suggestions for upcoming chapters, let me know. Next up: some TLC from Kurt and his family, and preparations for welcoming Blaine into the Anderson home (probably). Please review, favourite and follow. They are very much appreciated.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Aargh, apologies for the looong wait between chapters, but as a result I have a looooong chapter for you wonderful readers. Thank you for all you lovely people who review, favourite and follow, and encourage me to keep writing, even though in a hectic life there are always so many things to do. Kudos to the people who noticed my mistake in the authors note at the end of the last chapter: yes, it's meant to be settling into the Hummel's home - not Anderson. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it is a little long. Once I started writing it, I couldn't stop. Please review, favourite and follow :) Also, I do not, unfortunately, own glee.**

Kurt sat there for a while, one hand interlinked with Blaine's, his thumb stroking soothingly over the cold, quite calloused skin of the younger boy's hand. Kurt's left hand drifted almost idly through Blaine's wild hair, not caring about the sweat that clung to each individual strand, but instead noting how soft it was without the gel, despite the consistent tangles. He had been so used to seeing Blaine with meticulously gelled down hair when they were younger, and although being best friends with the other boy for so long meant he had glimpsed Blaine with his curls free of their gelled entrapment, that had only been on rare occasions. Blaine's curls had certainly never been as long as they were now, however Kurt was of course aware that living on the streets with no food or money meant an absence of luxuries such as hair cuts. Plus, with everything the poor boy had been through, Kurt knew that a trip to the barber's shop would have been and still was the last thing on his friend's mind. It only served to remind Kurt of the vast difference between how his and Blaine's lives had turned out. He wondered somewhat bitterly if things would have been different if Blaine's dad hadn't been such a violent, bullying, selfish … asshole. It was a measure of how angry Kurt was that he swore internally – he hardly ever swore. Yet seeing his best friend; the sweetest, kindest, most considerate person he had ever known, lying in a hospital bed, mainly as a result of the pathway Jonathan Anderson had cruelly set before his son, was truly horrific in Kurt's eyes. He so desperately wanted an answer to the question he had been asking himself for years: why did bad things happen to good people?

Kurt glanced down at Blaine and smiled slightly upon seeing the younger boy's eyelids drooping heavily due to his gentle ministrations. He knew there was no way he could claim to understand what Blaine was going through, but he did know that plenty of sleep made a wound heal quicker. Although he was aware that Blaine's emotional scars would take a very long time to heal simply from Blaine's heart-breaking emotional breakdown with him earlier, Kurt could see clearly just from Blaine's face that he was in a lot of physical pain too, particularly whenever he shifted the lower half of his body. Kurt didn't even want to think about what Blaine's attacker had done to him there.

They hadn't spoken a great deal since their conversation earlier but after years apart, Kurt was simply content to sit with his greatest friend and provide whatever comfort was needed. Blaine also seemed relatively calm around him, for which he was extremely thankful. He didn't think he could bear the prospect of Blaine fearing him. Yet the younger boy even let Kurt touch him, something Kurt had heard and read was a fear for many rape victims.

Blaine had almost drifted off again when the door opened to reveal Burt, Carole and a middle-aged male doctor, wearing the signature white coat and carrying a clipboard and fountain pen. Kurt recalled the last time he was in this hospital with Blaine, those few short hours before his best friend was literally forcibly dragged away from him for six long, painful years. At the slight noise of the door handle being twisted, Blaine's eyes shot open, and he automatically tried to sit up, only to let out a small whimper of pain as the needle connecting the drip in his right hand jabbed his skin painfully, and his left arm, still wrapped tightly in the cast throbbed angrily. Kurt saw the moment Blaine caught sight of the middle-aged doctor, because the younger boy's eyes grew wild and full of fear, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a lorry. He hadn't got the strength or the physical ability to get up and run, and as a result, Blaine's breathing quickened in panic, his voice eliciting small whimpers.

The doctor, to his credit, seemed to take the situation in his stride, approaching the bed calmly, his pen poised on the clipboard. "Hello, Blaine." He said in a perfectly pleasant voice, but even so, seeing Blaine's distress just roused the desire in Kurt to just seize the middle-aged medicine man by his laboratory coat's lapels and toss him unceremoniously out of the room. "I'm Doctor Carlton. My colleagues and I have been taking care of you whilst you've been unconscious, but now that you're back with us in the land of the living, I'm afraid we need to complete a few tests, and some repeats of a few examinations we have already carried out – just to make sure."

Kurt hated with a passion how cold and clinical the doctor was making this sound, especially as with every word the man uttered, Blaine tensed and backed up to the other side of the bed just a little bit more, obviously determined to put as much distance between him and the middle-aged male as possible. Kurt wanted to cry at the heart-wrenching whimpers Blaine was making; the warm feeling of sleep had been completely eradicated to be replaced by fear and memories of an unimaginably traumatising experience. Kurt kept a firm grip on Blaine's hand, squeezing it every so often to try and eke some comfort into the smaller boy. Blaine seemed too far gone to even acknowledge it however, and he began to slide his knees up towards his chest, curling himself into a tiny ball, looking as if he just wanted to disappear from the world and never return. Again, Kurt was very thankful that he had a firm grip on the younger boy's hand, because he didn't want Blaine to disappear again… ever. He watched as Blaine closed his eyes, muttering a shaky, but unintelligible mantra over and over again. The only words Kurt could distinguish were 'no more' and 'please stop', and he could feel tears begin to creep up on him. He didn't like this at all; he hated how broken Jonathan Anderson and Blaine's attacker had made the smaller boy, and he just didn't know what to do, or how to deal with it. Kurt turned his desperate gaze towards his dad.

However, Burt did not seem to even need the prompt from his son to do something, because he was already crossing the room towards the cot, taking a seat next to Kurt and gently reaching out for Blaine's shoulder. At the contact, Blaine let out a small cry, his eyes flying open and his shoulder jerking away from Burt's touch.

"It's okay, bud." Kurt heard his dad soothe, but he only had eyes for Blaine, who still looked wide-eyed and terrified. "You're okay… you're safe, see? Look to your right, buddy. We're here – the people who love and care about you are here. Kurt's sitting right next to you holding your hand, and Burt… well… I'm sitting here talking to you right now."

Kurt could feel his breathing going slightly off-sync; a sign that he was panicking, and he hastily blinked back any lingering tears in preparation for when Blaine eventually turned. The younger boy had clearly heard Burt's gentle words, but currently had his eyes on the white bed sheets. His eyes flickered to the right occasionally as if wanting to turn to look, but then they fell again as he lost his nerve. Kurt needed to do something… anything to try and ease his friend's pain. It was heart-breaking how Blaine's previously calm mood could change so suddenly the moment a stranger walked in, although Kurt was beginning to wonder whether it was because the doctor was a man. Blaine's attacker after all was a man, and Kurt couldn't blame his friend for reacting in such a way. The younger boy was clearly trying to gather the strength to follow Burt's instructions, but he was just so scared. Gently, Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand again, hoping that some familiar contact would put the smaller boy at more ease.

"I'm right here, Blaine." He whispered tenderly. "Remember, just a few minutes ago I was sitting here with you? And before that, we were talking. I told you I wasn't going anywhere, and I meant it. I'm still here."

Kurt watched intently as Blaine bit his lip and slowly, ever so slowly lifted his frightened, red-rimmed hazel eyes to meet his own. Kurt forced a small smile, "Hey there." He whispered, resuming the stroking of the back of Blaine's hand with his thumb.

Blaine's chin trembled in shame, "I'm sorry." He whispered back in a small, scared voice.

"Don't be sorry for being afraid, bud." Burt spoke up, and Blaine angled his head to look at the man as well. "You have every right to be scared."

Blaine dropped his gaze back to the bed sheets, not looking convinced, yet at least appearing slightly calmer.

"But you have nothing to be afraid of with Doctor Carlton here, buddy." Burt continued softly and patiently. "He only wants what is best for you. He wants to help take away the pain and for that he needs to carry out a few tests."

"When you were brought in Blaine, you had quite severe bleeding to your anus, so quite possibly I think you have an anal fissure or tear as a result of what your assailant did to you." Doctor Carlton added in as gentle a tone as he could. "I need to see it to treat it otherwise you may develop an infection and then you'll feel even worse."

Blaine had his head down so none of them could see his eyes, but Kurt spotted a solitary tear dribbling slowly down the younger boy's cheek. He made no reaction or any indication that he had heard the doctor other than a slight shake of the head. Kurt wanted to leave the room and cry but he couldn't. He couldn't leave Blaine; not when he was like this.

"It's the last bit of the process, bud." Burt stated softly. "You broke your left arm in a couple of places," he said, looking to Doctor Carlton for confirmation because he had never been particularly good at understanding medical information. When the middle-aged man smiled in agreement and nodded, Kurt heard his dad continue, "But that's been put in a cast and should heal in time. You had quite a drastic fever when you first arrived, but that drip that your right hand's connected to is helping with that, so in a couple of day's that won't be a problem any more…"

Kurt felt overwhelming gratitude to his father for being there, and for bothering to find out all of the medical details from the doctors so that he could help in whatever way he could. Perhaps his dad had foreseen that Blaine would be frightened of Doctor Carlton and so had learnt the information in preparation for seeing Blaine again. Kurt didn't really care about the reason for Burt's newfound knowledge of medicine; he was just glad his dad was there, because he didn't think he could cope with this on his own just yet. He would give it a damn good try though.

"We'll also give you some tablets which will numb the pain you're feeling from those bruises." Doctor Carlton added, pointing to the array of purple and yellow bruises littering Blaine's arms, face and neck, and those were only the ones that were visible. "Because your quite malnourished, and haven't had much food in your stomach for a while, we'll give you a mild painkiller – anything stronger may make you sick and you'll feel even more poorly."

Kurt was still watching Blaine for any reaction but he still sat there, his head bowed in what seemed to be, shame, and another tear was following in the path of the other one.

"So Doctor Carlton just needs to examine you and see if he's right about the… um…" Burt trailed off, his expanse of medical knowledge spent.

"- Anal tear." The middle-aged doctor provided helpfully.

Blaine still did not respond, and perhaps Doctor Carlton took that as a good thing because a few seconds later he started towards the cot again. However, just as he reached for the bed sheets, attempting to lift them off Blaine, the boy screamed out in utter terror, practically launching himself away from the man, towards Kurt, who automatically wrapped his arms around his younger friend protectively.

"Stop it!" Kurt snapped fiercely at the man, not caring that Doctor Carlton was just doing his job, and that he was probably being extremely unfair. He was just so angry, and anyone who caused Blaine any distress at this point was his sworn enemy. "Can't you see that you're scaring him and making everything worse? Just stop it!"

At his furious tone, Kurt felt Blaine flinch slightly, but thankfully he didn't move away; he just buried his head into Kurt's shoulder, seeking comfort which Kurt knew only he could provide. They were best friends; they had depended on each other and that didn't just go away because of a six year gap. Kurt tightened his arms around Blaine and stroked up and down the other boy's back soothingly.

"Bud, he needs to do it." His dad told him gently. When Kurt looked up at him, he could see that Burt looked no happier about this than he did, but as always, he was the voice of reason. "He needs to treat Blaine otherwise he'll get an infection. If the infection gets worse then… especially with his malnourishment and poor immune system then we could… lose him."

Everyone heard Blaine release a small cry into Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt's heart broke. Blaine had heard what could potentially happen to him, but he was still too scared to allow anything to be done about it. He didn't know what to do. If he let Doctor Carlton look after Blaine then he would be betraying his best friend, but if he didn't, then he could lose Blaine. And he had just promised himself that he would never let that happen again. Kurt looked despairingly at his dad, and then, though he didn't know why, at Carole.

He was even more surprised when an expression of realisation passed over Carole's anxious face, and she turned to Doctor Carlton, who had backed away from the bed, a little bewildered at Kurt's outburst.

"Bob," she said quietly, and Kurt suddenly realised, although he knew it should have occurred to him before, that Carole worked there; she obviously knew this doctor; she was his colleague. "I mean no disrespect to you, you know that, but isn't there anyone else… a woman perhaps… on duty at the moment?"

Doctor Carlton's face looked suddenly grim as he muttered back, so that Kurt had to strain to hear, "There was a school coach crash on the highway; both Sharon and Jill are assigned to the poor kids in the crash."

Kurt didn't know who Sharon or Jill were, but he assumed they were the two female duty doctors on the children's ward.

Carole seemed to think for a moment before she replied quietly, "Could I make a suggestion?"

Kurt did not hear much more of the conversation because they dropped their voices and Blaine was quietly sniffing, clearly trying to hide the fact that he was crying.

"It's okay, Blaine." Kurt whispered to his best friend softly. "I won't let anyone hurt you. It's okay."

Burt reached over and patted Blaine's curls comfortingly, looking just as miserable about this situation as Kurt. Kurt looked up at his dad but all the man could give was a weak smile of reassurance.

Eventually, Doctor Carlton and Carole finished conversing, and Carole stepped forwards towards the bed, kneeling down between Kurt and Burt's chairs so that she could meet Blaine's eyes. Kurt looked quizzically at Carole who flashed him a brief smile that told him that she had the situation under control. He trusted his almost step-mother and so nodded, gently releasing Blaine so that he would have to look at Carole. However, Blaine caught sight of another person and lowered his eyes by default.

"Hi, sweetie," Carole said softly, smiling kindly at Blaine. "It's me… Carole… do you remember me? I was with you in the ambulance when you woke up briefly?"

Blaine still didn't raise his eyes, but he seemed to recognise the voice, and did not seem too troubled by her presence. Slowly, he nodded, which Kurt thought was certainly progress.

"Good." Carole praised in the same gentle tone, and Kurt could suddenly see why she was a nurse. She was just really good with people. "I'm just going to introduce myself properly, okay?" she smiled encouragingly. "I'm Carole Hudson, though I'm soon to be Carole Hudson-Hummel, because I'm engaged to Burt here." She said nodding gently towards Burt who flashed her a loving smile.

Blaine's wide eyes flew up to meet Burt's as if to check that this was true and Kurt watched as his dad nodded in confirmation.

"I'm telling you this because you seem to trust Kurt and Burt, don't you?" she stated soothingly.

Again, Blaine nodded, his reaction quicker than the last, and Kurt released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Somehow, he thought he knew what was coming, and he thought it sounded like a vastly preferable alternative, and Blaine just might be okay with it.

"Well then," Carole said, taking a risk and gently taking Blaine's hand in hers, a source of contact which he mercifully did not pull away from. "we both know that Burt wouldn't marry anyone he didn't trust, especially after losing Elizabeth, because I've been told all about her, and how she was such a lovely person-"

This time, Blaine nodded and he hadn't even been asked a question. But then, Kurt knew Blaine agreed with the suggestion that Elizabeth Hummel was a great person, because she was. Kurt himself of course, agreed whole-heartedly. He was reminded of the Friday Night Dinner's the four of them – himself, his dad, his mom and Blaine – used to share.

"So both Burt and Kurt can vouch for the fact that I won't hurt you." She said, looking at the two Hummel's' pointedly, and they both immediately nodded, Kurt flashing Blaine a reassuring smile as the younger boy briefly looked up at him. "And if you're okay with it, then because I'm a nurse at this hospital, Doctor Carlton has agreed to let me examine you, with him supervising."

Even with his head bowed, Kurt could see the nervous look on Blaine's face, as if he did not quite know whether or not to trust the woman, even though he clearly trusted Burt Hummel's judgement.

"If you want, Burt can sit with you as well," Carole added gently, still smiling in encouragement. "for moral support." Burt instantly nodded.

"And me!" Kurt added sharply, having no intention of leaving Blaine's side.

"I don't think that's such a good idea." Doctor Carlton said hastily, looking up from the clipboard, on which he had been scribbling.

"I'm not leaving him." Kurt refused stubbornly, moving to take Blaine's hand from Carole.

"Kurt, I'm not sure-" Carole began with a worried glance between him and Doctor Carlton.

"Kurt, don't go." Blaine begged so quietly, they almost missed it; however the desperate look that the younger boy flashed Kurt was obvious for all to see.

"I won't." Kurt promised softly, flashing everyone a look that quite plainly told everyone in the room that if they were going to get him out, he was going to have to be forcibly removed. If he was going to be Blaine's rock in this horrible, painful situation, then he was going to stick with him for as long as he was needed.

Doctor Carlton sighed, but nodded his acceptance, whilst Carole looked Blaine fully in the eyes for the first time, "Sweetie, are you okay with me doing this?" she asked carefully. "It'll probably hurt a little bit, but I promise to be as gentle as possible."

They waited a moment, but Blaine slowly nodded his consent.

"Good boy," Carole commended him softly. "I'm going to talk you through every step, okay? There's nothing to be scared of." She flashed him one more heartening smile, before saying: "Okay, first of all, I need you to lie back down on the bed, on your side, so that you're facing Kurt and Burt."

Hesitantly, Blaine lowered himself away from Kurt, lying back down on his side, whimpering as his backside brushed against the sheets. Kurt swallowed his distress; Blaine was clearly in much more pain than he was letting on. He made sure he kept a constant hold of Blaine's hand, squeezing it ever so often, offering the younger boy a wan smile.

"That's it." Carole soothed, nodding to Doctor Carlton to approach the other side of the bed where she was now standing, and where Blaine was facing away. Kurt could now see why she had deliberately asked Blaine to lie on his side; it was so that he wouldn't see the frightening doctor. "Now I'm going to lift the bedclothes away from your back and bottom." She told him.

As she proceeded with this, Kurt watched as Blaine sucked in a deep breath, slamming his eyes shut, as if waiting for some sort of trick to occur; like he was expecting more pain. He tensed and didn't move when Carole informed him she was going to unbutton the underside of the flimsy, blue hospital gown that he had been dressed in. Kurt ran his thumb over Blaine's palm and fingers, trying to placate him in some way, but Blaine's eyes still remained closed. Kurt couldn't tell if it was out of fear or shame. After all, his damaged body was now being viewed by two strangers, and there was only a thin hospital sheet preventing Kurt and Burt from seeing it too. Thus, Kurt determinedly looked away, desperate to give Blaine at least a sliver of dignity, and instead looked into the younger boy's face.

When Carole told Blaine gently that she was going to assess the damage to his anus, parting the cheeks of his backside gently, the boy elicited a loud whimper of pain the moment she touched the clearly tender skin. Kurt jumped, looking to his dad for help but Burt also looked troubled. This was Blaine, who had been a part of their family for so many years, and he was in such intense physical and emotional pain that they couldn't do anything to help him, or at least, there was nothing they could do imminently. Kurt didn't know much about situations like this, but he knew counselling was certainly on the cards, and from the concerned looks and constant scribbles that Doctor Carlton kept making, he rather thought that the hospital would suggest this the moment the physical damage was dealt with. Kurt's heart broke. He didn't know how much more of this Blaine could take. Like before, when Blaine was shrinking away from Doctor Carlton's touch, Kurt felt the need to do something; maybe say something to take Blaine's mind off the pain.

What could you say to someone that you hadn't seen in six years, especially when their own past seemed too horrific to talk about in that moment? His dad saved him from further thought.

"After all this is over, bud," Burt addressed Blaine quietly. "you're going to come home with us. We're going to sort out the spare room for you. I've already asked a buddy of mine from the garage to make a start. He's been over plenty of times and I trust him to make a good job of it." He looked at Kurt. "I've asked Jim to put all of the clothes you keep in there back into your room, if that's okay?"

Kurt just nodded. It was a mark of how concerned he was about his best friend that he couldn't care less about clothes in that moment. As long as Blaine came home, he didn't care. Blaine's response surprised both of them:

"I… I c-can't." he mumbled softly, whimpering slightly as Carole gently prodded around the damaged area.

"Okay, honey." She soothed, catching the eye of Doctor Carlton who nodded, and left the room. "Doctor Carlton's just leaving the room to get some ointment which will numb the pain, some antiseptic and some water to clean you up."

She pointedly stayed out of the conversation.

"What can't you do, buddy?" Burt asked the broken boy softly, waiting patiently for an answer, whilst Kurt rubbed sympathetically up and down the upper, freer part of Blaine's bandaged broken arm.

They waited for a few moments whilst Blaine gathered the courage to speak again, his voice hoarse and vulnerable. "I… c-can't go… b-back with you."

"Why not?" Burt asked patiently.

"Blaine, you… you can't go back to your dad… you can't-" Kurt began to panic. If Blaine didn't go back with them, where on earth would he go? To Cooper? Kurt had no idea where Cooper Anderson was these days, and he doubted Blaine did either; otherwise surely he would have gone to his big brother for help. The eldest Anderson sibling had always been self-obsessed though; Kurt doubted very much if he cared for Blaine's well-being.

Blaine's eyes finally opened, looking up to meet Kurt's. As they did, more tears began to fall from Blaine's soulful hazel eyes, and Kurt inwardly cursed himself for mentioning Jonathan Anderson. The man was a monster and he belonged in prison. Blaine opened his mouth to say something, but instead he released a small sob and he instantly closed it again, hiding his face in the pillow in shame.

"Why can't you come home with us, kiddo?" Burt asked again gently. "We want you to, don't we, Kurt?"

"Yes." Kurt had never been surer of anything in his whole life.

This time, it was a good few minutes before Blaine answered, moving his face away from the pillow so that his voice wasn't muffled as he murmured shakily, "You have a family… you have a fiancé-"

"I would love for you to come back with us, Blaine." Carole spoke up for the first time, pausing her work to confirm her response with Burt; they nodded together, and Kurt felt a rush of gratitude to the woman his dad was marrying. He knew that stepmothers were supposed to be hated in general, but he couldn't help but love his.

"You see?" Burt stated to Blaine, and Kurt nodded along with him.

Blaine said nothing. Tears continued to dribble down his cheeks, and he jumped as the door swung back open to reveal Doctor Carlton bringing a tray of medical supplies and a soft cloth to presumably wipe away any blood. Kurt closed his eyes briefly; he really didn't want to think about it. He looked back to Blaine and stroked a hand through his dark curls comfortingly, noticing how the boy had grown tense again at the male doctor's renewed presence.

"I… I d-don't…" Blaine trailed off faintly, apparently unable to continue, because he buried his face back into the pillow to avoid looking at either Burt or Kurt.

"You don't what, buddy?" Burt asked gently.

"I don't w-want to be a… burden." Blaine stated miserably. "I… I don't want t-to r-ruin your-"

"Stop right there." Burt said firmly, and Blaine, who had obviously trained himself to wither and hide when he did something wrong, or was spoken to harshly, winced slightly. "Blaine, look at me."

Blaine's chin trembled in fear, but he followed Burt's order. Kurt just wanted to hug his best friend again, and convince him that everything was going to be okay. He felt tears pool in his own eyes once again.

"I told you before," Burt told the younger boy firmly, leaving no room for argument. "that you were coming back with us. You're not a burden… to anyone, and if your father told you that, than he's wrong. You won't ruin anything, Blaine. You are part of my family… you always were."

Blaine looked to Kurt as if for confirmation, and Kurt didn't quite have enough time to wipe the tears away. Blaine of course, as he always had done, noticed that he was crying silently, and in turn, more tears dribbled down the younger boy's cheeks. "I'm so s-sorry, Kurt." He cried in distress. "I just k-keep upsetting you. I'm really s-sorry."

Kurt knew he had to take control of the situation before it got out of hand again. "You're not upsetting me, Blaine." He told him firmly, furiously wiping away his tears and then reaching to do the same for Blaine. "It's what has happened to you that is upsetting me. It's what all those awful people have done that's hurting me, not you. Never you." He promised softly, wiping the last of Blaine's tears from the younger boy's cheeks before moving to stroke his curls again. "You're my rock, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine didn't look convinced, but he allowed his eyes to meet Kurt's, and the older boy was just thankful that his best friend still found comfort in him. The peace was short-lasting however as Blaine winched and whined as Carole must have brushed against a particularly painful part of his anatomy. Kurt thought of a topic, anything that would keep Blaine's mind away from the pain.

"I'm at McKinley High School now," he said, as brightly as he could, and he was glad to see Blaine still hadn't looked away. Instead, he looked a little calmer at the change of topic; almost desperate to see how his friend had been whilst he had been enduring the horrors of his father. Kurt allowed his hand to keep drifting through Blaine's curls soothingly as he continued, "I made a few good friends, although most of them are girls and are all in glee club with me." He shrugged and was overjoyed to see Blaine's mouth upturn slightly at the edge in an almost-smile. "There's Mercedes Jones," he said chattily, trying to be as light-hearted as possible, especially since he could see out of the corner of his eye that Doctor Carlton was handing Carole some ointment and was silently instructing her how to coat it over the wound. "She has a voice like Beyoncé and I swear that girl's going to get a record deal some day, but she won't take any crap from anyone. As she says, she is a strong black woman and proud of it," he said, imitating Mercedes tone to which Blaine again, almost smiled. He then whimpered again as Carole began administering the ointment to his damaged behind, and Kurt stroked his hand down from Blaine's hair to his cheek, wiping away the first signs of any tears, "And then there's Miss Tina Cohen-Chang," he continued, determined to take Blaine's mind off what was going on around him, and keep the younger's boy's eyes on him instead. "She's quite shy, and a bit of a Goth… or is it emo? I don't really know." He shrugged lightly. "Anyway, you don't want to get on her bad side." He finished, before rolling his eyes at the next person on his list. "And then there's Rachel Berry. She's allegedly the 'star' of glee club but, please," he said, flinging his head back in a camp way he rarely did except for when he was talking in musical theatre mode, "I can't help but pull focus, okay?" he said jokily, and if possible, Blaine's almost-smile grew a little wider. "Anyway, she's obsessed with becoming a star on Broadway, and she'll kill anyone getting in her way… figuratively speaking of course." He frowned good-humouredly. "Or let's hope so." Blaine's eyes widened slightly, but Kurt's words seemed to be having the desired effect. There weren't any tears anymore. Blaine seemed content to just sit there and listen to Kurt witter on, and if Kurt had to do that all day to help heal his best friend, then he would. "But what her annoying habits hide is a heart of gold," he resumed. "I just wished she showed that side of her more."

Kurt smiled softly at his best friend, whose eyelids seemed to be growing heavy again. "You know," the older boy said softly. "They are really good friends, and I love them all in my own way." He paused, stroking the pad of thumb across Blaine's still slightly damp cheek, "But they were never you. You were and still are my best friend, Blaine." He said tenderly. "We went through everything together. You stuck up for me and… and looked after me in a way that no one ever has." He smiled as one particular memory suddenly came to the forefront. It wasn't a very happy memory at the time, but it was something he had recalled millions of times since. "Remember that time you climbed the tree in he schoolyard to stop dad finding out about the bullying?"

Burt, who had just been sitting there quietly, proudly watching his son and Blaine interact, suddenly groaned, albeit light-heartedly to join in with the banter, "Oh no," he said over-dramatically. "Not that…"

* * *

_Kurt tried hard not to feel depressed at the prospect of school every morning; he really did. In general, his enthusiasm and attitude towards school had improved tremendously since the second grade, but that was only due to meeting Blaine. Blaine was quite literally the sunshine in Kurt's life, and the best friend he could ever have asked for. Having known each other for three years now, they were still as inseparable as they were back on Blaine's first day of school, where they had snagged peanut butter and jelly sandwiches under an often disused stairwell, poring over Kurt's little notebook of drawings. Kurt was still just as unpopular, and even though Tanner Westwood and his cronies had long since moved on to middle school, it seemed to be a coveted tradition to pick on the kid with the supposedly girly clothes and the high-pitched voice. Through every push and every shove in the school playground, and during all the name-calling, Blaine stood faithfully by his side, righting him gently if he got pushed and helping him clean macaroni cheese off his clothes after cackling kids 'accidentally' splattered him with their lunch. The news that Blaine had stood his ground with Tanner had spread around the school like wildfire that day, and to most of the kids, who were either under Tanner's thumb or afraid of him, it was an unwelcome gesture. As many children had learnt from their parents, there was no going against the status quo in Lima, Ohio, and that was exactly what Blaine had done. His subsequent friendship with Kurt had only exacerbated his unpopularity and so, in the end, Blaine had ended up at the bottom of the social ladder with Kurt. Kurt often felt guilty at dragging Blaine down with him, because he knew without a doubt that with Blaine's gentle kindness and quiet enthusiasm, the younger boy could have made a great many friends. Yet Blaine insisted time and time again that he did not care about being popular, and that all that mattered was that he had found the nicest, kindest, most wonderful person in the playground to be best friends with that day. _

_So yes, Kurt felt unbelievably lucky to have Blaine as a source of support… even more so in the past year. Almost a year ago, his mom, the person who, with the exception of Blaine, he was closest to and loved the most in the world, had died. At first, he had not been able to understand it. Kurt remembered his mom coming home one day, with huge dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes, and leaning heavily into his dad, who had held her carefully around the waist, looking equally as devastated. Both she and his dad had sat him down at the dinner table and explained to him that she was sick. When he had asked when she would get better, she had smiled that beautiful smile of hers and replied softly, with a trembling chin that she probably wasn't going to. Within the space of a few months she had grown worse, becoming too tired to even muster the energy to get out of bed; she was constantly shaking, apparently as a result of the failing chemotherapy, and even though she never said anything when he was around, Kurt had once overheard her saying with difficulty to his tearful dad, that she would probably go soon. Those had been the worst moments of Kurt's life and every day when Blaine came over, he had fallen headfirst into the younger boy's arms, crying. Eventually, he and Blaine had become so in touch with each other's minds and emotions that Blaine knew instinctively when Kurt was upset. The younger boy would take his hand, lead him across the playground to their newfound sanctuary behind the school greenhouses, and place his arms around him, hugging him tightly. Blaine never said much during those occasions, but the hug and the shoulder to cry on were enough. Even though Blaine had never talked much about his parents, and especially about his mother's death, he had said enough to know that Blaine had loved his mom and had been just as close to her as Kurt had been with his. Kurt had known, and still knew that Blaine understood fully what he was feeling. And that only brought them closer together. Blaine had been there at the hospital the day his mom passed away, holding his hand the entire time, and Kurt had clutched back at his with equal fervour. It was Blaine that Kurt turned to when his dad sank deep within himself after the funeral. The past year had been strained between him and his dad to say the least; both of them did not know quite what to say or how to comfort one another, so a lot of the time, they just settled for quiet. Sometimes the bullying got so bad that Kurt wanted to just tell his dad, but he didn't want to upset him even more. _

_It had been the day Kurt had returned to school after a week's absence following his mom's death that he had discovered the truth about Blaine's father, and just how brave Blaine actually was. Kurt had been too upset to do anything much all day, and so when he looked up and saw a pile of macaroni cheese flying his way, tears were already welling in his eyes, awaiting the inevitable humiliation. However, the hit never came. Blaine had seen the large dollops of food being catapulted towards Kurt first and so, wanting to protect his grieving best friend, he leapt in front of him and took the hit. When Kurt had realised what had happened, he had steered a slightly stunned and mucky Blaine out of the school hall, before the teachers realised the commotion, and into the boy's toilets. This time, it had been him helping Blaine clean his sweater. In order to try and get the stain out completely, Blaine had, without thinking, taken the sweater off, revealing a multitude of cuts and bruises up his arms, and a purple, particularly painful-looking one splayed out angrily at his wrist. Kurt had always wondered why Blaine wore long sleeves, even in the boiling hot summer; he had found his answer. Initially, Blaine had made a poor attempt at covering up both his injuries and his home problems, but then when Kurt, after receiving years of support from his younger friend, finally returned the gesture, it all came tumbling out. The confident, dazzling smile Kurt had become so used to Blaine wearing had slipped completely, and for the first time, with the exception of the day his mom died, Kurt saw Blaine cry… really cry, and it had broken his heart. With his best friend constantly cheering him up, taking care of him, and simply being there for him, Kurt often carelessly forgot that Blaine was younger than him, and in that moment, he had felt incredibly guilty for not asking about the younger boy's home life more and looking after Blaine as his friend so often did for him. It had all come flooding out: the revelation that Blaine's dad, as had been routine for as long as Blaine could remember, was hitting him, beating him, hurting him, yelling horrible things at him… even locking him in the basement from time to time without food. The question as to why Blaine had made his own peanut butter and jelly sandwich that first day, as opposed to his parents, was answered. If Blaine wanted to eat, then he had to find and make it himself. _

_Blaine had been horrified that day at letting his mask slip; apologising profusely, desperately, for giving him even more to burden him on top of his mom's death, but Kurt hadn't minded… well… he clearly minded that Blaine was getting hurt. Every day, he feared that something really bad would happen to his best friend; that he would lose Blaine just as he had lost his mom, and he couldn't bear that thought. However, Blaine begged him tearfully not to tell anyone – not even Burt, otherwise his dad would be even angrier with him, and the punishments would just get worse. Kurt so desperately wanted to tell – to help Blaine get out of that horrible house, but similarly, he couldn't break the younger boy's trust; not when Kurt constantly pleaded with a worried Blaine not to tell Burt about the bullying. Kurt knew Blaine felt a similar conflict with keeping the bullying a secret from Burt as Kurt felt about Jonathan Anderson's abuse of Blaine, but they trusted and cared about each other too much to commit such a betrayal. With worries for each other on both sides, their bond was further strengthened– they depended on each other. Blaine experienced newfound comfort from Kurt after his father's constant abuse, and as always, Blaine continued to stick loyally by Kurt's side through thick and thin, often consoling him over his and Burt's strained father-son dynamic, and his missing of his mom. _

_So in having Blaine, Kurt no longer felt so depressed at the prospect of school. The only problem was that because Blaine was younger than him, they did not share classes, and so Kurt missed his friend dearly during that time. After what Kurt had just experienced a few minutes previously, all he wanted was to see Blaine; just seeing the other boy's face would make him feel a little better. One could assume that the end of school signified the end of the trauma from bullies. For Kurt, it had always been quite the opposite. Bullies took particular pleasure in cornering Kurt at the end of school, especially on days, such as this one, when Blaine's class was finishing late. It wasn't that the bullies had a problem with doing horrible things with Blaine around, or indeed to Blaine as well; it was just that generally, it was easier to terrify a person when they were on their own. Kurt was only nine years old and he already knew that. With the exception of Mrs Ainsworth, Blaine's teacher, who was obviously still finishing up the class, probably because their art project had overrun, most of the teachers had already gone home when the new chief bully, Ty Peterson and his friends had decided to approach Kurt. Not that the teachers ever did anything to help him or Blaine anyway. _

_Kurt could have run away, but his parents had always taught him never to run away from a bully, and besides, he hadn't wanted to leave Blaine behind. Also, the other part of the reason for him standing aimlessly in the middle of the school yard was that his dad was supposed to be picking him and Blaine up because it was Friday. Even with him and his dad still not knowing quite what to say to each other, they had both agreed to keep on the tradition of the Friday Night Dinner, in exactly the same way as they had with his mom. Blaine of course was part of the coveted dinner, and had been ever since that first week he and Kurt had met when Kurt had invited Kurt enthusiastically along to the dinner, much to the initial chagrin of his dad. Kurt had been very happy however, when Burt warmed up to the other boy's presence a mere three weeks into Kurt and Blaine's friendship, and now warmly insisted on Blaine joining them, telling the younger boy that he was welcome in their house any time. When his dad had said this, Kurt had noticed that Blaine, although as always was smiling politely, had grown distinctly quiet, and Kurt knew he was thinking of his own 'home' and father, and how he was constantly told that he was a waste of space. Kurt had simply slipped his hand into Blaine's under the table, and the other boy had smiled at him gratefully. He had thought briefly that his dad had noticed Blaine's sadness, but the man did not say anything, so Kurt supposed he must have imagined it._

_Kurt loved that Blaine spent most of his time at the Hummel household, because not only did it mean plenty of time with his best friend, but also, it meant that for a lot of the day, Blaine was safe from his father. Blaine especially managed to liven the place up on Friday Night Dinner's, talking animatedly about anything and everything, occasionally even making Burt laugh with some silly story or simply by Blaine's bouncy enthusiasm, which also made Kurt laugh most of the time, and he was used to it. These moments of shared laughter and happy conversation between the three of them were what Kurt looked forward to most in the week. He knew that his dad enjoyed Friday Night Dinner's just as much, and so every Friday, he would leave work at the garage early to pick him and Blaine up to give the three of them more time together. _

_However, today, his dad was late. Had he been on time then Kurt knew this might never have happened. But it had… and now he would have to tell his father about all the bullying, because there was no way he could hide this. The bullies had finally left him alone a few minutes previously, cackling at their 'genius' as they walked away from the school, leaving Kurt standing there, completely humiliated, tears streaming silently down his face. He wished Blaine would come soon. _

_As if some supreme force had read his mind, the school doors were suddenly flung open and gaggle of children Kurt recognised from the grade below him ran out of the school gates towards the curb where Kurt now noticed, were a line of cars, all presumably with waiting parents to take their kids home. Kurt searched but he couldn't see his dad. _

"_Kurt?" _

_Kurt recognised that innocent, but concerned tone anywhere. Even though Kurt had his back to Blaine so he couldn't yet see his tears, the younger boy already knew that something was wrong. Finally, Kurt allowed himself to release a sob and turned to see Blaine rushing down the school steps, hurrying to meet him, his expression sad and anxious. Before he could even say anything, Blaine had reached him and was hugging him tightly. Kurt flung his arms around his friend, resting his head on Blaine's shoulder and crying quietly. Blaine did not say anything for a few minutes, just allowing him to release all of the pent up tears that he had been holding back since the bullies left. _

"_Kurt," Blaine asked softly, his big brown eyes blinking up at him as Kurt eventually slackened his grip, giving Blaine the opportunity to squeeze his hand comfortingly. "What's wrong? What's happened?" _

_Kurt tried to focus his breathing for a few moments. Once he had succeeded, he sniffed and was about to wipe his eyes and nose with his hand when Blaine, as he so often did, offered him a perfectly folded tissue. Smiling slightly, Kurt accepted the tissue, wiped his eyes and blew his nose quietly, before placing the tissue up his sleeve. _

"_Ty Peterson." He sniffled._

_Blaine's eyes grew wide and fearful, and he squeezed Kurt's hand again. "What did he do?" his younger friend asked gently, but Kurt could tell from Blaine's glistening eyes that the other boy was upset, as he always was when Kurt was hurt or humiliated. He never got angry; Kurt had never seen Blaine angry in all the time he had known him. It just wasn't in his nature. But he did get upset; desperate to know why and how people could be so cruel. Even after everything his father had done to him, Blaine never spoke a word against Mr Anderson, but Kurt saw the hurt in his best friend's eyes; the wondering just what he had done wrong to deserve all the abuse. Kurt knew that look well, because he often felt the same way. In that moment, he was sure his expression was mirroring Blaine's. _

"_He… they…" Kurt sniffed. "They p-pushed me over and t-took my shoes." _

_Blaine's eyes visibly widened in horror, and sure enough, when he looked down, he noticed that Kurt was standing there with nothing on his feet but his socks, which were gradually becoming dirty from the tarmac schoolyard. _

"_Oh Kurt, I'm so sorry." Blaine whispered, his eyes welling with tears upon witnessing his best friend's unhappiness. _

_Kurt could feel himself beginning to cry in earnest again, "What am I going to do, Blaine?" he questioned wetly, hanging his head. "I'm going to have to tell my dad about the bullying now. He's going to notice that I haven't got my shoes." He sobbed. _

"_Maybe he won't," Blaine tried kindly, squeezing his hand again. "I didn't notice at first." _

_Kurt shook his head, his cries becoming steadily louder. "He'll notice. And he'll want to know how I lost my shoes. And then he'll realise about the bullying." He wept tearfully. "And things will be even weirder between us. He'll probably come into school and talk to the teachers, and it'll just make everything worse." _

"_How do you know he'll notice?" Blaine asked softly, rubbing his thumb comfortingly over Kurt's hand. _

_Helplessly, Kurt pulled away and jerked his head towards the tall oak tree next to them, feeling another sob erupt though him as he saw the situation he was in once again. He watched as Blaine's eyes travelled up the tree, resting near the top, where his shoes were currently tied to the one of the top-most branches – Ty Peterson's idea of a joke. _

"_Dad will notice when he picks us up." Kurt sobbed again, panicking, and this time Blaine didn't contradict him. The fact that his best friend agreed with his thought only made Kurt cry harder. _

"_Maybe it's a good thing." Blaine whispered gently, though his eyes were still brimming with tears upon seeing Kurt's unhappiness. "Maybe it's good that your dad finds out – he might be able to help." _

"_It won't help!" Kurt cried hysterically, with a hint of frustration in his voice. He knew Blaine was only trying to make him feel better, but he simply couldn't bear the thought of his dad finding out. "It'll just make everything worse – just like you say that telling someone about what your dad does to you would make everything worse." _

_Blaine was quiet then, and Kurt began to worry that he had hurt his best friend's feelings. He had seen the hint of hurt flicker across Blaine's face when he all but shouted his fears, and despite his fretting, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Blaine. He was about to open his mouth to apologise when Blaine suddenly removed his small satchel, a look of determination crossing his face. Kurt watched as Blaine approached the tree, scaling it up and down with his eyes before he took a running jump at the lowest branch. Horrified, Kurt ran to the base of the tree. _

"_Blaine!" he cried fearfully. "Blaine, what are you doing?" _

_Blaine, who had successfully clambered up onto the branch was now looking for his next foothold, determination still set across his face. "Getting your shoes back." He answered simply._

_Kurt's eyes widened in horror as Blaine fearlessly scrambled up onto the next branch up, his left foot almost slipping against a piece of loose bark. Kurt would have scaled the tree himself before if he hadn't thought it too dangerous. Ty Peterson was a tall, well-built, older boy and so had ascended the tree with incredible ease, but Kurt was smaller and less sure of himself so high up. He knew he wouldn't have been able to reach some of the branches. But Blaine was even smaller than him, and Kurt couldn't bear to think about what would happen if he lost his balance and couldn't reach to grip a branch in time. He began to cry again. _

"_Blaine, please come down! It's not worth it." He called desperately. "I'd rather tell dad about the bullying than lose you." _

_However, Blaine apparently wasn't paying attention. He was too engaged in making sure he climbed to all the right branches. Once or twice he stumbled, his eyes becoming wide; his face white, and Kurt screamed out. He could see that the younger boy was scared, yet Blaine just kept on going… for him. _

_Eventually, Kurt watched Blaine jump for the branch to which his shoes were tied, reaching his destination successfully, and untying the laces from the tree. _

"_Look out!" the younger boy called, and Kurt moved out of the way as his precious shoes tumbled to the ground. Kurt hastily slipped them on before anyone passing noticed what was going on, and then turned around to thank Blaine. In the time that he had looked away however, Blaine's face had turned as white as a sheet and he was staring at the long drop to the ground, as if he hadn't realised he had climbed so high. _

"_Blaine?" Kurt asked worriedly. "Blaine, are you okay?" _

_He watched Blaine visibly gulp before flashing him a very shaky, false smile, "I… I'm fine. I… I'm just coming down now." _

_Kurt knew something was really wrong, and he felt himself begin to cry yet again, whilst his eyes followed the younger boy as he hesitantly edged closer to the trunk of the tree, searching for a manageable way down. He prayed to anyone that was listening that his best friend wouldn't fall. Blaine had been so brave to climb the tree to save Kurt the humiliation of telling Burt about the bullying, but simultaneously, it had been a foolish move. _

_Blaine bit his lip and gripping the tree trunk tightly, he swung himself down towards a lower branch. However, just as his feet touched the branch, they slipped on another loose, rotten piece of bark and he began to fall forwards, losing his balance. Kurt screamed again, closing his eyes tight, because he didn't want to see this; didn't want to witness his friend falling headfirst to the ground. When he didn't hear a thud, he dared to open one eye, peeking up at the tree. Blaine, still white-faced and terrified, had managed to right his balance so that he didn't hit the ground, and was clinging to the tree trunk for dear life. _

"_Oh Blaine." Kurt cried, taking a few steadying breaths. _

_Blaine looked slowly down at the ever present gap between him and the ground and said timidly, "Um… Kurt." He sounded heartbreakingly ashamed of himself. "I… I don't think I can get down."_

_Kurt's chin continued to tremble, but he tried to keep as calm and as clear-headed as possible. "That's okay, Blaine – just stay there."_

_Blaine nodded, and before he sniffed too, "I'm really sorry, Kurt." _

_Kurt's expression softened, despite his tears, "Don't be. Thank you so much for doing this, but I'm really scared for you right now. Just please don't move." _

_Again, Blaine nodded obediently, "Okay." He replied in a small voice. _

_Kurt looked around the yard for someone, anyone who could potentially help them, but everyone had gone home. Even the cars that had been lined up on the curb had disappeared, and Kurt felt completely powerless. Then he remembered that Mrs Ainsworth was still inside the school. She was a nice enough teacher and she would almost certainly help them. Blaine would also probably get a scolding for climbing the enormous oak tree in the first place, but right now, all Kurt cared about was that his best friend was safe. _

"_Blaine, I'll go and get Mrs Ainsworth!" he called up to the younger boy, whose grip was still firm on the tree trunk. "She'll help us."_

_He turned to rush back into the school, but Blaine's loud, frightened cry stopped him, "No Kurt, don't!" _

_Kurt swivelled round so that he was looking back up at Blaine again, "Why not?" he asked, trying to remain calm and failing miserably. Tears were still dribbling down his cheeks. "Blaine, I don't want you to fall." _

"_I… I'm okay," His younger friend answered, momentarily flashing an obviously faux smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. "I'll find a way down – just please don't get a teacher." _

"_Why?" Kurt demanded again. _

"_Because it's against the school rules to climb the trees," Blaine answered shakily, before his face turned even whiter at his next elaboration. "And if a teacher finds out, then they'll tell my father and he'll… he'll… be really, really… m-mad." _

_He trailed off towards the end, looking terrified at the prospect; both of them knew that Jonathan Anderson could be, and usually was, much more than simply 'mad' or angry – he got violent. So Kurt was inexplicably torn between what to do. He could see that Blaine was right; the school would call Mr Anderson if Blaine got into trouble, and then the younger boy would get hurt. The way Kurt saw it, Blaine could and might get hurt either way. So instead he wrung his hands in despair. _

"_I don't know what to do." Kurt panicked aloud, frantically. _

_Blaine looked absolutely heartbroken that his actions and subsequent situation had upset his best friend, "Please Kurt," he begged timidly, despite his fear. "Don't cry… it'll be okay. Please."_

_Kurt's response was drowned out by the sudden appearance and sound of a very familiar and welcome car. Kurt breathed a sigh of relief as his dad finally pulled into the yard, but his happiness was short-lived however as he noticed the horrified, almost angry expression on Burt's face through the windshield, as the man spotted Blaine in the tree. As soon as the ignition had been switched off, his dad shot out of the car and dashed over to them. _

"_Blaine Anderson!" he yelled, though he looked more fearful for Blaine's safety than actually thunderously angry – that was Jonathan Anderson's forte. "What the hell are you doing up that tree? Get down here now before you fall!"_

_Blaine noticeably winced at Burt's sharp tone, but Kurt could see his best friend start to build up those false, but ever-present walls of confidence. "I don't think I can." He answered, his voice stronger and calmer than it had been a few minutes previously when replying to Kurt, but nevertheless, Kurt could still tell when Blaine was putting on that façade. _

_Kurt looked to his had desperately and saw the colour drain from his face. It was as if the man had just realised that Blaine wasn't playing a game; he was well and truly stuck, and because he was so much smaller than Ty Peterson, he could easily miss a branch and fall. _

"_Look, bud," Burt coaxed, his tone calmer, almost soothing. "You got yourself up there, so you must be able to get yourself down too." Kurt sniffed and stared at his dad. He could see plainly that even his dad didn't quite believe his own words. _

"_I... I'm really sorry, sir," Blaine said sincerely, his fear beginning to show through now. "But I… I don't think I can." _

_Burt sighed, his face a mixture of frustration and worry. He took off his baseball cap and scratched his head as he always did when he was thinking, before he replaced it, looking the tree up and down. "Why on earth did you go up there in the first place?" he asked exasperatedly, but there was audibly a kindly edge to his voice. _

_Kurt swallowed at his dad's question and looked up at Blaine, whose eyes met his. Kurt could tell in that one look that Blaine desperately wanted to tell Burt about the bullying; the stop something like this happening again, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of them. There always had been. Kurt could see that Blaine knew that he wasn't ready to tell his dad yet; that was why he had scaled the tree in the first place – to stop Burt from finding out. With practiced ease, Blaine turned his confident front on again, pausing slightly before smiling sheepishly. _

"_It was… um… err… a… a dare." The younger boy stated cheerily, nodding as he found his answer. "Yeah… a dare."_

_Kurt smiled gratefully back at his best friend, but when he looked up at his dad, he could see a very visibly frown on the man's face. Kurt could immediately tell that Burt didn't believe Blaine, but then, his best friend was awful at lying; he was such a natural truth-teller. The fact that he had hidden his father's abuse for years didn't count; he never lied about his father – he just resorted to the safe option of never saying anything in the hope that no one would notice. And no one had noticed… until Kurt did. Kurt bit his lip and prayed that his dad didn't call Blaine out on the fact that it was such a blatant lie. _

"_Uh-huh…" Burt pondered slowly, clearly not believing one word of it. The guilty, concentrated expression on Blaine's face was enough. "And who dared you? I want their names so I can report them to your teacher."_

"_Um…" Blaine stumbled, his cheeky grin fading slightly, clearly not prepared to answer the question with yet another lie. _

"_I'm serious, Blaine," Burt said gruffly. "You're seven years-old. You should not be climbing any trees, let alone the biggest one on the school grounds. If the older kids have been daring you, I want their names." _

_Blaine hesitated for a moment, and Kurt began to wish that his friend was a more convincing liar. Finally, a small smile crossed Blaine's features as he apparently found an answer and announced, "Me… I… I dared me… myself." He amended. _

"_You dared yourself?" Burt repeated, raising an eyebrow. Kurt knew for sure that his dad knew that Blaine was lying now, but for some reason, he wasn't pushing the issue. _

"_Y-Yes." Blaine stammered. Kurt had to admit that at least that was basically true. Blaine had made the decision to climb the tree to get Kurt's shoes down. Kurt hung his head and sniffed. This was all his fault. _

_He suddenly felt a warm arm around him and looked up to see his dad giving him a kind, reassuring smile, "It's okay, bud." He said gently. "We'll get him down." He looked back towards the school and the empty car park for a source of help. "Looks like everyone's already gone home." He remarked. _

_Kurt just shrugged, sniffing again and looking up at his best friend, still holding firmly onto the trunk of the tree, "You were late." He couldn't help but explain in a small voice. It was true. If his dad had been on time, then this would never have happened. _

_Burt looked crushed and extremely guilty, withdrawing his hand from around Kurt's back. "I… I know, bud. I'm sorry. Something needed taking care of at work and..." His dad trailed off, apparently realising that Kurt was not in the least bit interested in his heightened work schedule, given that they had missed valuable time on their special Friday night together, and Blaine was now stranded up a dangerously high tree. Kurt stared desperately up at his friend, silently pleading for his dad to do something. Burt in turn, seemed to read his son's mind. _

_He started towards the tree, assessing it up and down for potential footholds, just as Blaine had done earlier, before swinging himself up onto the first branch with surprising agility. Kurt took in a large gulp of breath, his heart beating wildly underneath his clothes. He was now doubly scared because the two people he loved most in the world were so far from the ground, that if one of them, or even both of them fell, then they would get seriously hurt. _

"_Dad," he pleaded in a small voice. "Please be careful." _

"_I'll be fine, bud-" the eldest Hummel stopped speaking momentarily as the branch he was balancing on creaked and bended dangerously. He hastily grabbed onto another, sturdier-looking one. _

"_Please be careful, Burt." Blaine echoed, now in just as fearful and timid a voice as Kurt's. _

"_Now just you concentrate on staying right where you are until I can get to you, okay?" Burt reprimanded the youngest boy gently, though he was clearly touched by the sentiment. _

_Kurt looked on in terror as his dad slowly closed the gap between him and Blaine until he was on the branch below Blaine. Blaine shuffled his feet nervously, as if not knowing what would be considered safe to do next. Burt eased himself down onto the branch so that he was sitting relatively comfortably, his back pressed flat against the tree trunk for leverage, before he looked up at Blaine. Kurt watched as his dad took in Blaine's wide, scared eyes, the confident front gone for now, and the man flashed the young boy an encouraging smile. _

"_You're okay, bud." Burt told Blaine softly. "You're alright." He paused momentarily, as if working out what method would be best to tackle. Eventually, he outstretched both arms towards the boy, "Slowly and carefully, as I did just now, sit down." He directed. Blaine took another look down at the ground and swallowed, turning nervous eyes on Burt. Kurt was thankful that his dad continued to smile reassuringly, because he knew how fearful his best friend was of not doing something straight away when he was around his own father. "Come on, bud," Burt coaxed gently. "I've got you. You won't fall, I promise."_

"_You can do it, Blaine!" Kurt called up to his friend, needing to help in some way to quell his terror. _

_Kurt saw Blaine's eyes land and rest on him for a moment before the same expression of determination that had been present when he first climbed the tree, crossed his face. The younger boy sucked in a deep breath before following Burt's instructions, easing himself down into a sitting position, so that his little legs were dangling over the edge. _

"_That's right," Burt encouraged, his arms still outstretched. "Now I want you to lean forwards, towards where my arms are, okay?" _

_Blaine flashed him a look that so obviously said 'I'll fall', that even Kurt could see it from way down below. _

"_You won't fall," Kurt heard his dad add. "I'll catch you before that happens. Put your arms out like this," he instructed patiently, showing Blaine the position his arms were currently in. "and when you lean forwards, try and put your hands on my shoulders, okay?"_

_Blaine looked doubtful, yet nodded determinedly. Slowly, he reached out his arms, stretching them to angle with Burt's shoulders, before leaning forwards. Kurt opened his mouth to scream when he saw Blaine slip off the branch completely, but no sound came out. Instead he let out a short, sharp, shaky breath of air as he witnessed his dad, as the man had promised, catching the younger boy deftly around the middle. Blaine's hands, as Burt had calculated, had landed firmly on the man's shoulders, though Blaine's eyes were wide with terror. Burt adjusted the boy's weight so that he was resting on his hip, as Blaine's hands automatically gripped around his neck. _

"_Good boy," Burt praised gently. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" _

_Kurt was incredibly glad his dad was there, because he didn't think he could bear seeing that frightened look on Blaine's face on his own. For the first time since before his mom's death, he felt safe around his dad, instead of awkward. He wanted nothing more than for the man to hug him, because the bullying and now this, had upset him greatly. However, he needed to make sure his best friend was okay first, although after seeing his dad make that first save, catching Blaine as he jumped from the branch, Kurt somehow knew that the two people he loved most would be just fine. Things between him and his dad had been strained recently, but the man had never let him down, and Kurt was certain he wouldn't now. And it went without saying that he knew Blaine wouldn't let him down – he never did. _

_He watched proudly as his dad coaxed Blaine into climbing onto his back, the boy's arms wrapped securely around the man's shoulders and neck, before Burt carefully descended the tree. The moment they both landed on secure, solid ground, Kurt ran to them, sweeping a dazed Blaine into a hug as he slipped from Burt's back. Blaine didn't respond for a few seconds – he was a little shell-shocked, however he finally drew his arms around Kurt and hugged him in return. _

"_I'm so glad you're okay." Kurt whispered to his best friend, resting his head on the younger boy's shoulder. _

"_Love you, Kurt." Blaine said so softly and vulnerably that only Kurt could hear it. _

"_Love you, Blaine." Kurt responded, before releasing the younger boy, satisfied that he was okay. He promptly turned round and hugged his dad tightly round the middle, clinging to him tightly; so, so thankful for him being there, no matter how late he was. He registered briefly how stunned his dad looked before the man's features softened and he folded his arms around his son in return. At that moment, Kurt didn't think he had ever felt so safe and relieved. It was also the moment in which he realised that he and his dad had not hugged or maintained any major physical contact since his mom's funeral, and he clung on tighter than ever. _

"_I love you, daddy." Kurt mumbled against his father, not caring that he resorted to the name he used to call his dad before he 'grew up', or rather, before his mom died. _

_He thought he heard his dad clear his throat slightly before he replied a little gruffly, "I love you too, son." _

"_Thank you for saving him." Kurt continued to mumble, still not breaking the embrace. He couldn't really put into words how thankful he was that Blaine was safe. Aside from his dad, Blaine was the most important person in the world to him and he couldn't bear to lose him._

"_Well I could hardly leave him up there could I?" Burt answered, before adding lightly, his head turning to look at Blaine, with a humorous, mischievous glint Kurt hadn't glimpsed since before his mom's death. "Or could I?" _

"_Hey!" Blaine complained, although when Kurt finally broke away to look at his friend, he could see clearly that Blaine knew it was all in good fun. He was a part of the family and he knew it. He wouldn't be left up in any trees if they had a say in it. _

_Kurt heard a chuckle and his heart lifted with happiness as he saw his dad chortling at Blaine's false indignation. He was overjoyed when the man drew both him and Blaine into a huge cuddle, only breaking away when his stomach rumbled loudly. _

"_I think that calls for dinner." Burt announced, leading the two boys to the car, which was still parked precariously a few metres away. "But Blaine…" he said seriously as he opened the door to the backseat for the two children. "No more daring yourself to do anything, and no more climbing trees, okay?" _

"_Yes, sir." Blaine said, looking both chastised and grateful for Burt's rescue operation. "Thank you, sir." _

"_That's okay." Burt nodded gruffly, before herding them into the backseat and then settling himself behind the wheel. _

"_Will… will you… t-tell my father?" Blaine asked nervously, and Kurt reached over and slipped his hand into the younger boy's to offer both comfort and gratitude for what he did. He really hoped his dad wouldn't, but the man had such a sense of duty that he might feel it his obligation to tell Mr Anderson, with the pure intention of protecting him in the future; he just didn't realise that he would actually be causing Blaine far more pain than any tree probably could. _

_Both children waited with baited breath as Burt hesitated, "If you promise me that you won't go doing anything like that again, then we'll say no more about it." He decided. _

_Blaine let out a relieved breath, "I promise, Burt." _

"_Good." Burt responded, satisfied. "That goes for you too, Kurt." _

"_Yes, dad." Kurt replied though when he looked into the rear view mirror he could see that his eyes were twinkling. He knew that Kurt wouldn't do something like that, and Kurt also had a feeling that his dad additionally knew that Blaine was lying about his situation being the result of a dare, but thankfully, he didn't say anything. Instead he said with almost rejuvenating spirit; a lightness to his voice Kurt hadn't heard in nearly a year: "Any suggestions for Friday Night Dinner, Kurt?" _

_Kurt grinned widely at this sudden, but welcome ease between them, "Anything but macaroni and cheese." He said cheekily, catching Blaine's eye. _

_Blaine caught the reference to the school dinners, and promptly fell about laughing. _

* * *

Kurt wished desperately, more than anything, that he could make Blaine smile and laugh like that again, because the boy in front of him had never looked so broken and so helpless. Blaine's enthusiasm for life and people had slowly been drained from him, one day at a time over those six years, and Kurt didn't know how to get that back. Instead, he could only be there for his best friend, because, broken and defeated or not, Blaine had still come back, and Kurt was so unbelievably glad that he had.

"You know," Burt said conversationally, to a sleepy Blaine. "Kurt eventually told me the real reason why you climbed that tree. I knew you hadn't dared yourself. I mean kid," he questioned in gentle humour. "How on _earth_ do you dare _yourself_?" He shook his head dramatically. "Seriously, buddy, you need to work on your lying."

As Blaine's eyes finally left Kurt's, closing fully, both Kurt and his dad saw it. A small smile. It wasn't very prominent, but it was definitely there.

"Now there's a picture." Burt breathed softly, a grin playing on his mouth at seeing Blaine's now peacefully sleeping face, complete with smile.

Kurt was so relieved and so happy to see Blaine finally smile, giving them some indication that not all hope was lost, that he finally allowed himself to cry. It started off as small sniffles, but as his dad noticed and swept him into a comforting embrace, he broke into quiet sobs, glad that his cries were muffled by his dad's shoulder, because he didn't want to wake Blaine.

"I know, son." Burt whispered gently. "I know it's a lot to take in. It's not going to be easy, but we're just going to have to be there for him."

Kurt gulped down another sob and nodded, "I know." He said thickly. "It's just… I've just realised… that… that day he c-c-climbed the t-tree… when you s-s-saved him… things w-w-weren't g-good between you and m-me and when y-you saved h-him… it w-was l-like… the m-moment everything started to get b-better. It b-brought us closer together."

He felt Burt nod in understanding, "I know. I owe my relationship with my son to him." he said gruffly. "If he hadn't done that so unbelievably annoying thing then… things between us could have been very different."

"B-b-but it's n-not fair." Kurt wept in frustration, balling his hand into a fist. "It's not far that he's so good… he does s-so much good… and he gets hurt. It's n-not f-fair that this h-happened to h-him." he sobbed.

"I know," Burt murmured into his hair, his voice just as thick. "I know it's not fair. None of this is fair. What's happened to him isn't fair, but there's nothing we can do about it. We only try and help him move on."

"We could go after Jonathan!" Kurt snapped angrily. "We could… w-we could…"

"That's not going to help anyone, bud." Burt soothed, pulling away and looking at his son seriously. "And you know it. I don't know about you, but I just want to keep Blaine as far away from Jonathan as possible."

Kurt sniffed and swallowed any angry retorts he had. His dad, always the voice of reason, was right. There was no point in going after Jonathan Anderson; it would only make things worse for Blaine. As far as they had gathered, Blaine had run away from the man, so Mr Anderson probably had no idea where Blaine was. If they kicked up a fuss, then Jonathan would know exactly where Blaine had disappeared to. Then again, Kurt knew there was probably a slim chance that Blaine would tell them where his dad was anyway, either because he was too traumatised or out of some, misguided loyalty to the man he could barely refer to as a father.

Carole disturbed the silence by whispering to Burt, "Is he asleep?"

Burt nodded, "Kid drifted off a few minutes ago."

His fiancé nodded, taking a step back and allowing Doctor Carlton to resume with the final steps of healing, to make sure everything had been done properly.

"The ointment probably made him a little drowsy," Carole explained to her family. "Although he clearly needs the sleep, poor thing." She looked sadly at Burt, "He's in a bad way."

Everyone in the room knew she wasn't just talking about the bruises, the broken arm and the vicious anal tear, but it was only Doctor Carlton who had a response.

"I think it'd be prudent to contact a hospital psychiatrist to come down and see him." he said wisely, but not unkindly. He finished his work, buttoning Blaine's hospital gown back up, before fully covering the sleeping boy with the cotton blanket, looking down at him sadly. "He's at the difficult age between child and adult; it's hard for Blaine to know how to react, and so it's difficult for a psychiatrist to fully understand and gauge how best to help him."

Kurt let out another sob, and felt his dad squeeze his shoulder gently; the eldest Hummel also didn't seem to know quite what to say.

"Maybe if he continues like this, it'd be better to transfer him to the psychiatric ward." Doctor Carlton said thoughtfully, worrying his lip with his teeth.

"No!" Kurt snapped fiercely. "He's not crazy!"

"No, he's not." Burt agreed sharply, glaring up at the doctor. "I am very grateful for all you have done for Blaine, but he does _not_ need to take a trip to any psych ward. He's been hurt badly by his dad and by this rapist, and he's scared, and all he needs are the people who love him – that's us." He said with just as much vigour as his son's outburst and Kurt looked up at his dad proudly. "So he'll go home with us. I am quite happy to pay the hospital bill, and even for counselling sessions, but don't you stand there and say that he's crazy when he isn't… he's _terrified_. He's _fifteen_ and he shouldn't have to be dealing with any of this." Even though his voice was quiet, it was filled with an anger that quite clearly stunned and terrified the middle-aged doctor, who shuffled his feet nervously. "Aren't you supposed to have special people who… I don't know," he said vaguely, looking towards a wide-eyed Carole for help. "… who specialise in… rape cases? Because with all due respect Doctor Carlton… you don't seem to."

"I… um… I treat rape cases," the doctor said, a little unnerved by Burt's protective speech. "The physical aspect… it's the psychiatrist's job to assess what is best for him mentally-"

"Oh good," Burt hissed, a little rudely. "So why don't you leave that to them before you transfer the kid to the friggin' _psych ward_."

Silence reigned for a moment, leaving an awkward tension in the atmosphere. Carole was glancing wide-eyed between the man she loved and her colleague. Kurt just stared up at his father with pride and gratitude. He knew that with his dad around, no harm would come to his best friend.

"You… err… you're right." Doctor Carlton finally stumbled apologetically. "I'm sorry."

Burt, who had half risen from his chair, nodded gruffly and sat back down again, "It's okay."

"Bob has sent the tests for STDs in for examination," Carole said quickly, eager to break the tension. Kurt looked up fearfully. "There are no sign of any minor ones, but we've given him some antibiotics to rid him of anyway; the results for the major ones like HIV and AIDS should be delivered to us in a few weeks."

Kurt sniffed again, and watched his dad nod numbly in response. "Thank you." He said quietly to both Carole and Doctor Carlton. It was a peace offering which the middle-aged doctor took.

"Just doing my job," he said, smiling slightly before it faded a little. "The anal tear was quite severe, and it will be quite painful for him move around, and go to the toilet for a while, but I'm optimistic it'll heal within the month. And we've had to take a few pictures for evidence for the police." He said seriously. "As you are acting as Blaine's guardian for now, I need your consent for me to actually pass these onto the police."

Burt shrugged, "Okay. Anything to find the bastard that did this."

Doctor Carlton was hesitant before he added, "The police want to come in and talk to Blaine about this, but I'm not sure he's quite ready for that yet, because they'll also want to know where the bruises came from and as a doctor, I can quite plainly see not all of them are fresh. Some of them are old. I've spent much of my career reviewing abuse cases, Mr Hummel, and Blaine has cuts on his back that were clearly made by belt beatings; most of those cuts won't ever heal. They've been left too long."

Tears fell again from Kurt's eyes; he had known about the abuse before anyone. But just knowing that if he'd told someone… even if it had been betraying Blaine's trust… then none of this would have happened, was eating away at him. The abuse his best friend had abused when they were younger hadn't stopped. It had only got worse. Burt just let his head fall into his hand.

"So what are you saying?" his dad asked tiredly.

"As the person who has technically treated Blaine, it is my obligation to tell the police about the bruises, because that kid has been abused. And then they'll try and get out of Blaine where his father is, stressing him out further before they find and arrest the man."

"Blaine won't tell you or anyone where his father is." Kurt spoke up for the first time in a while. "He won't, trust me."

Doctor Carlton sighed, and placed the materials back onto he tray he had brought in before. "I'm going to speak to the child psychiatrist on the ward… see what she recommends and find out when she can come down to talk to Blaine."

With that, the middle-aged doctor walked out, leaving the devastated family behind. It was now evening and they had ridden on a rollercoaster of emotions that day. They all wanted to fall into the blissful ignorance of sleep, but they couldn't. Not until they found out what was going to happen to Blaine.

**Poor Blaine. I'd say what's coming next, but I honestly don't know, and I'll try and write more if I can get the time. So I hope you did like the chapter and that it wasn't disappointing after such a long wait. Please let me know what you think! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Bit of a filler chapter, but I hope you like it anyway, because it took me a while to write. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows and favourites. They really mean a lot and are very encouraging to keep going. Thank you emsylou1110 for your contribution as a nurse (this is not my profession so the information was very much appreciated), and fenomena, during this chapter, I tried to cut up the text as much as possible to make it a little easier to read :) But really, thank you to all of you who reviewed! Please read and review xx**

_It was dark. He would have been sitting in pitch black had the small crack underneath the closet door not allowed the slightest smidgeon of straw coloured light through. But Blaine liked it that way. He was curled up with his knees drawn tightly to his chest, his arms clinging to the array of coats which seemingly smothered him to his neck, yet provided a better barrier from the outside than he had felt in the last week. An awful, but familiar sniff and a forcefully croaky voice grew gradually more audible as the person he feared most in the world neared the closet. Blaine was now well-attuned to such situations; his mommy had taught him well, and he hastily tossed the hood of a fur coat over his head as the door opened a crack, only for two more heavy mackintoshes to be thrown unceremoniously inside; both landed painfully on top of Blaine, but he did not dare make a sound. He did not want to be found. He did not think he ever wanted to be found. He wished he could just stay huddled up in the mound of coats forever until his mommy came back for him. Blaine caught a snippet of the conversation his father was having with the latest guests; presumably the ones whose coats had just been carelessly tossed inside the coat closet, on top of his head:_

"_It's hard," he heard his father sniff, his vocal tone grave and sad. "I just… I don't know how I'm going to cope without her… and Blaine… the precious boy keeps asking where his mommy is and… I… we'll get through it though… thank you for asking… you're very kind." The man simpered as he slammed the door closed again. Some clearly sympathetic voices followed, but their words were incoherent to Blaine's ears. _

_Blaine did not understand. Before this morning, his father had not even seemed to care that Grace was gone. Blaine also couldn't understand why the ambulance had come to take his mommy away last week; she had only been sleeping. Blaine had seen that she was tired, and he had asked her what was wrong, but she had merely answered that she loved him so very much, and that she was so very sorry she couldn't be with him but she needed it all to stop. She needed to sleep. Blaine had of course, understood that she couldn't play with him that day; that she needed to get some sleep so that she wouldn't be as sad as she was that morning. However, he just didn't understand why that meant she had to go to the hospital. He had watched as the people in green uniforms held his mommy's wrist whist shaking their heads to one another before consequently covering her face with a blanket. Blaine had frowned, trying to tell them that she wouldn't be able to breathe properly in her sleep if they did that, but they had simply pulled him from the room. At the hospital, his father talked to the doctors, and he had visibly cried great fat tears; Blaine hadn't ever seen his father cry. Most of his memories of Jonathan Anderson displayed an angry face, and sharp, shooting pains as he was hit, or screams from his mommy. A while later, his father had led him gently down the hallway; it was only once they were standing in the elevator that the grip on his shoulder became agonising, and his father had hissed: 'precious mommy isn't coming back… and it's all your fault'. That night Blaine experienced more pain than he ever had; his arms, bottom, head and chest had hurt and hurt after repeated thumps… throughout he had sobbed that he just wanted his mommy. His father had in turn laughed cruelly and retorted emphatically that she wasn't coming back._

_He didn't want to believe the man who had hit him at least five times each day that week… but his mommy still hadn't returned. Blaine had thought of everything. Perhaps she had gone on holiday until she felt better. Or maybe… maybe his father was right. Maybe it was his fault that she had gone… had he driven her away? Had he been bad… demanded too much from her? He missed her every day, with every fibre of his being, but his father didn't seem to. Jonathan had invited women Blaine had never seen before over to the house more or less every night, locking Blaine in his bedroom without dinner whilst the four-year-old listened to the bed springs in the room next to his go wild, and voices crescendo from grunts to loud screams. Blaine didn't understand. He didn't know what was going on._

_Today had been even more confusing. He had accompanied his father to his mommy's funeral, the man growling at him beforehand to stay quiet and not say anything about the past week, or he would be sorry. So Blaine had obediently kept silent all the way through the service, even though he didn't understand why a party in honour of his mommy seemed so sombre and most importantly, why Grace wouldn't come back to enjoy it – not that anyone else seemed to be enjoying it. He had watched as a wooden box with his mommy's name engraved beautifully into it, was lowered down into a rectangular pit, and then everyone had returned to the house for something entitled a 'wake'. Blaine so desperately wanted to ask someone, anyone where his mommy was… if they knew where she had gone, or why she had left them… but he couldn't. His father would be so angry if he spoke; every time he had turned his head, his father had been there watching him, his cold, merciless grey eyes trained upon him, daring him to be disobedient. So his first instinct had been to run, blindly bumping into guests he had never seen before, some of them asking him how he was, but he couldn't speak. He couldn't. His father would know. Eventually, feeling tears welling up in his eyes, his breath growing panicky, he had sought solace in the first place he had cast eyes on: the coat closet by the front door. _

_It was an ideal hiding place. The light in the closet didn't work, and with his father constantly tossing coats into the cupboard, he was perfectly concealed from prying eyes. It was then Blaine had let himself cry… silently, so that no one would hear him outside, especially his father as the man frequently answered the door to more guests. Now he had cried himself out for the day, and he closed his eyes as the closet door slammed shut again; he considered the punishment he would inevitably receive from his father tonight and he whimpered quietly. What did he and his mommy do wrong? Why did his father hate him so much? He tried to be good. He tried so, so hard. _

_Blaine breathed in the heavily perfumed stench of the fur hood over his head and coughed. He clapped a hand over his mouth immediately to smother the sound, before removing the item of clothing from his face. He felt suffocated by rich furs and mackintoshes – undoubtedly belonging to colleagues and acquaintances of Jonathan Anderson's. Yet simultaneously, they provided temporary protection from the monster outside. _

_The distinct sound of a rapping on the door sounded, and Blaine could hear his father's heavy footsteps echo along the wooden floorboards before the door was opened. _

"_Thanks for comi – oh – " his father's voice stopped dead, before it took on a cooler, almost cold tone. "Elizabeth." _

"_Jonathan." A woman's voice sounded curtly, albeit muffled, but Blaine could still recognise it and he felt his heart leap just slightly. Elizabeth was that lovely woman from next door who had visited his mommy for coffee every week or so, depending on when Jonathan was out. Blaine knew that he liked Elizabeth; she had been really nice to him, and also, he realised that since she and his mommy were friends, she might know where Grace had gone. _

"_I… wasn't expecting you." His father said smoothly. _

"_Clearly. I wasn't invited to the funeral or this… little get-together" Blaine was only four-years-old but even he knew that Jonathan and Elizabeth did not really like each other. _

"_Well I-"_

"_But she was my friend Jonathan, and I'm here to pay my respects to her regardless, just as everyone in this room is doing, although I'm convinced that most of them didn't know her half as well as I did." _

_Blaine swore he heard his father growl, and he buried his face back into the fur hood, despite the heavily perfumed aroma. _

"_Fine." He heard his father snap, although Blaine knew perfectly well that all was not 'fine', but because there were so many people there who could witness his true character, he couldn't express his true feelings on the subject. His father wasn't happy, and Blaine would inevitably suffer for the man's anger tonight – on top of his own punishment. His chin trembled at the thought. "Fine." The man enunciated again, before turning and stomping back into the house, but he completely passed the closet, much to Blaine's relief. "If you knew her and this house so well, I assume you can find your own way inside and navigate your coat into its appropriate closet."_

"_You assume correctly." Elizabeth replied coolly; the clicking of heels sounded against the floorboards and seconds later, the room was flooded with light, Elizabeth Hummel framing the doorway. _

_He watched frozen, eyes wide, realising that it was too late to pull the fur coat back over his head to avoid being noticed. Had he not been scared of what his father would say and do, Blaine would have run to her and hugged her tightly; she was the first motherly, friendly face he had seen in a week and he so desperately needed comfort. Yet he just watched as the woman removed her plain black mackintosh to reveal an equally plain black dress, before folding it carefully and moving to hang it up on one of the vacant coat hangers. It was only as she finished slipping the coat over the hanger that her eyes landed on his. She paused in her actions before squinting, as if making sure what she was seeing was real. _

"_Blaine?" she asked quietly, her gentle tone welcome in place of the brisk one she had used whilst confronting his father. "Honey, is that you?"_

_Blaine wanted to reply – he really did – but at that moment he heard his father release a loud and clearly fake cry of 'Thank you so much for coming', and instead his frightened eyes flickered towards the closet door, still wide open. His father could move towards the front door at any moment and see him. _

"_He doesn't fool you either, huh?" Elizabeth asked gently, before stepping over the coats scattered across the floor and closing the door firmly. Blaine didn't know why, but at that precise moment he began to cry silently again. Perhaps it was from the sheer relief that someone else knew that his father didn't seem to care that Grace was gone. The faint outline of Elizabeth manoeuvring carefully towards him could be made out, and seconds later he felt a warm body sit down next to him, arms encircling around his back, pulling him gently into her lap. Blaine didn't even try to pull away; instead he automatically clung to her, still crying mutely. _

"_Oh, Blaine." Elizabeth murmured softly, stroking up and down his back soothingly. "I know, honey. I know. It's not fair… it's just not fair."_

_Blaine couldn't reply, but he agreed with all his heart. Instead he sniffed miserably into the sleeve of her plain black dress, and was extremely thankful that she didn't seem to mind. When he calmed down to a sensible degree she asked him softly:_

"_What are you doing all by yourself in the dark, honey?" _

_Still, Blaine refrained from replying, even though he wanted to. He looked up into relative darkness, in the direction of where he assumed her face to be and willed her to understand. It seemed that she did. _

"_I think perhaps I'd want to hide from all the scary people out there too. And I hate to say it, but I'd especially want to hide from your father… I'm a grown woman and he scares me sometimes." _

_Blaine looked up at her again, wanting to tell her how close to the truth she was… how scared he was of his father… how scared his mommy was. _

"_So let's just stay in here, eh?" Elizabeth whispered gently, slipping her long silky brunette hair behind her ear before doing the same with Blaine's poorly gelled-back dark curls. His father had forced him to cement his hair in gel in order to supposedly make him presentable, also adding that he should do it from now on because he looked less like a cissy that way. Blaine nodded gratefully in response to Elizabeth's suggestion._

_Long minutes passed during which Blaine longed to ask the question which had been dominant in his mind for the last week, yet images of his father's angry face and painful slaps prevented him from evening opening his mouth. She continued to card a soothing hand through his restrained curls – an action that was so similar to how his mommy sent him to sleep each night that the tight feeling in his throat and chest returned; he blinked rapidly to rid himself of any more tears. He subconsciously pulled at the black tie his father had fastened so tightly around his neck that he could barely breathe. It only resulted in the noose-like article becoming tighter still. _

"_Let's loosen that for you, honey." Elizabeth said softly, leaning forwards, but Blaine's eyes widened in fright and he stumbled back, falling off the woman's lap in the process, shaking his head fiercely all the while. Mr Anderson had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to keep his clothes immaculate, and that included the unbearable knot in his tie. Blaine had never worn a tie before – he had never had cause to – and he hated it. Nevertheless, he would rather keep the offending article on rather than face his father's wrath. _

_Elizabeth paused in her actions, an expression flitting between shock and concern painting her face. "Okay." She said gently, as if taming a wild beast. "Okay. Let's just keep it as it is." _

_Blaine nodded, but swallowed nervously. _

_Another ten minutes of uneasy silence followed, which was broken when his father's booming voice could be heard outside, calling for him in a pleasant tone which he used so rarely. _

"_Blaine! Blaine, precious boy, where are you?"_

_Blaine was growing accustomed to sensing the lurking danger in his father's tone and it was very much present in those calls. On the outside, the eldest Anderson was merely searching for his son; on the inside… he was thinking about punishments for later when all the guests had gone, because his son had run away to hide. _

"_Blaine! Come on out! There's nothing to be afraid of… these people just want to see you!"_

_Blaine clenched his teeth together to stop himself from crying out; a quivering mess, he buried his face in Elizabeth's shoulder. He could smell perfume – not musty and cheap like the stench surrounding the variety of fake furs belonging to his father's business associates, but sweet and delicate like fragile flowers. He felt arms fold around him immediately:_

"_Oh, honey." Elizabeth sighed in response, although he couldn't see her face to consider what she was thinking._

_Blaine couldn't suffer in silence anymore, "Mommy." _

_He whispered his plea to Elizabeth… to anyone who knew where his mother was. He just wanted his mother. _

"_Where's mommy?" he asked, his voice muffled into the nice woman's shoulder. "I want my mommy." _

_There was a pause during which Blaine thought he felt Elizabeth's breath hitch a little, and the sound of his father's footsteps filtered through from the kitchen to the wooden staircase, still apparently searching for his son. _

"_Oh, Blaine… honey… I…" Elizabeth trailed off, and Blaine finally looked up at her. Even with the dim light emerging through the gap under the closet door, he couldn't quite determine her facial expression. She definitely seemed sad but also… angry? Blaine began to panic. Was it wrong to ask where his mommy had gone? Was she going to betray him to his father? Elizabeth glanced down at him, producing a small, but clearly false smile. "Did… did your daddy not tell you… where she's gone?" _

_Blaine bit his lip. Any mention of his father and he grew automatically wary. His father had warned him not to say anything of the past week, but he had also said that Grace was gone because of Blaine… that it was his fault. In the end he didn't respond, verbally or otherwise. Elizabeth may have understood because she just flashed him an encouraging smile and continued gently:_

"_Honey… your mommy… left." _

_Blaine blinked up at her, desperate for more information, "W… When is she coming back?" he asked in a small voice._

_Elizabeth closed her eyes, sniffed and sighed again. She sounded so sad. "Blaine… honey… your mommy… isn't coming back." _

_Blaine's heart stopped at the devastating words, and he felt his breathing speed up, tears pooling in his eyes, overflowing and running down his face. His mommy wasn't coming back… and it was his fault. He had been bad for too long. He had made her run away. _

"_W-Why?" he cried, his body trembling with the weight of his newfound knowledge. "Because I was bad? I can be good… I promise I can be good."_

_Elizabeth hugged him tighter to her, "No," she whispered into his gelled hair. "No, baby, it wasn't because you were bad. You're so, so good, okay?"_

_Blaine ignored the last statement. He didn't believe it was true. His father always said he was bad, so that must be right. "If I'm g-good, will she c-come b-back?" he sniffled desperately. _

"_No, honey," Elizabeth crooned into his hair again, clearly trying to comfort him, but it wasn't working. "I'm so, so sorry. There's nothing anyone can do to bring her back. She's dead." _

_Blaine couldn't believe it. He couldn't imagine a world without his mommy, so to be told that there wasn't anything he could do to bring her back was devastating. "W-What does that m-mean?" he sobbed, not caring that he was probably too loud now. It did not matter if his father found him. _

_He felt Elizabeth press a kiss to his forehead, "Baby, it means that… she's left this world… and she couldn't come back, even if she wanted to."_

"_She wouldn't want to see me again?" Blaine sobbed harder. He couldn't quite take it in, and to make matters worse, he could hear his footsteps thundering back down the stairs and across the wooden floor toward the closet. He had heard Blaine. _

"_Oh, honey… of course she would… she was just… so sad. But she loved you very much… so very much." Blaine could swear he heard the woman's voice break, and he berated himself for upsetting someone else as well. His mommy had been sad… because of him, and now he was making Elizabeth, his mommy's friend upset too. _

"_I w-want m-my m-m-mommy." He wept hysterically. The echoing footsteps loomed ever closer and ever louder. "I w-want m-mommy."_

_He cried at the agony of probably driving away the one person he knew loved him, and he in turn, loved the most. He cried that his mommy was dead, and that his father hadn't told him. He cried because Cooper wasn't there on such a heart-breaking, monumental occasion, and because the sixteen-year-old hadn't visited, called or written to the family since he left to become a television star. _

"_M-m-mommy!" He sobbed, withdrawing his hands from where they had been clinging to Elizabeth's dress, to rub his wet, tired eyes. _

"_Oh, Blaine," he heard Elizabeth whisper wretchedly. "I'm so sorry." _

_The closet was suddenly filled with blindingly, bright light as Jonathan Anderson's figure tore open the door and stood there, seething. Blaine took one look at him and cried harder than ever. Before others started to crowd around the doorway, his father cast him one glance at which Blaine knew he was in big trouble, and then the burly man turned to a miserable-looking Elizabeth. In the clear light, Blaine could now see that she too had tears running down her cheeks. _

"_Please get out." He snapped at her coldly. When she didn't move, standing her ground with her arms still tight around Blaine, Jonathan started towards her. Elizabeth must have got the message, because he hastily got to her feet, removing her warm, comforting touch from around Blaine's shoulders. "Get out of my house." _

_Elizabeth wiped her cheeks, cast one more sorrowful glance at Blaine, who was still crying loudly, before fetching her coat from the hanger and slipping it on. _

"_How dare you invite yourself into my house and upset my son." Blaine heard his father say, the man appearing to be the image of the doting, protective father, when really, Blaine was sure it was because Jonathan didn't want the woman to be speaking to his son anymore. "Get out now."_

_Elizabeth's eyes narrowed in on Jonathan, regarding him coolly, despite her tears, before moving towards the door. _

"_N-No!" Blaine cried. "P-Please." _

_He tried to stumble after her, but his father caught him roughly by the arm and dragged him towards him, his grip bruising painfully. _

_Elizabeth smiled sadly at Blaine before opening the door and venturing out into the bleak afternoon. _

"_M-Mommy!" Blaine sobbed again. "I'm s-sorry. I w-want m-my m-m-mommy." _

_Suddenly, it was happening again. Blaine was vaguely aware of this having ensued before as the world before him seemed to blur and rearrange itself in a kaleidoscope of different colours and images. The painful grip on his arm became agonising, and he looked over to find that he had fallen over, face down, and his arm had taken the brunt of his fall, splaying out at an odd angle. And then he felt it: white hot, excruciating pain in his backside like he was being torn apart. Someone was inside him and it hurt so very much. He tried to look over at his assailant only to see the face of… his father. _

"_P-Please s-s-stop!" He begged, tears spilling onto the now muddy ground beneath. They had left the inside of the house long ago it seemed. He didn't know where he was or how he had got there. He just felt pain. _

"_No!" His father snarled, shoving himself inside Blaine with more brutality than the boy could ever have imagined. "It was your fault she died! It was all your fault! She couldn't bear to see your gay little face." _

"_I'm sorry!" Blaine sobbed, distressed at the accusation and the unbearable, relentless pain. _

"Blaine."

"_I'm so sorry." He repeated, before realising that something wasn't quite right. _

"Blaine, honey."

_As he thought more about what was happening, he found that the pain was lessening; each thrust growing weaker in impact. This… this had happened before. The pain had occurred before, and it didn't happen like this. His father wasn't the one who…_

Blaine felt his eyes fly open, and suddenly, he wasn't facing muddy ground or his father's sweaty, incensed face, but something altogether more beautiful. Kurt's concerned, angelic face came swimming into view, and he had just a few seconds before he realised the significance of his nightmare, and then, the reason for Kurt being there with him. He took in the catheter, the IV, the cast on his left arm and finally, the white-washed hospital walls before dissolving into tears again. He wanted to stop crying, he really did, but in order for that to happen, he had to escape from the constant nightmare that was his life, and he knew there was no way for that to happen. He had tried running away, and that had even brought him back to Kurt, the person he loved more than anyone else in the world, and still, selfishly, he felt depressed and scared; constantly plagued by memories which he couldn't escape even when asleep. The thought that he had been raped on top of everything else just made him near-hysterical.

He hadn't realised that he had closed his eyes again until he felt the touch of another person on his body, and he couldn't see who it was. He instantly flinched and tried to wriggle away, only to realise once he was fully conscious that it was Kurt, precious Kurt, who was trying to fold him into a comforting embrace. Trembling from his harrowing nightmare and ever-demeaning thoughts, Blaine fell slowly into his best friend's arms; Kurt caught him carefully, and began running a soothing hand up and down the younger boy's quivering, but nevertheless stiff back. Slowly, the tears lessened and he allowed himself to relax under Kurt's ministrations, although the fear and disgust was still there. How many times was he going to disturb and worry Kurt with his constant crying? He had to stop. He was trying to stop. But one thought kept popping into the forefront of his mind; the same words his father had uttered that awful night.

"It's m-my f-f-fault." He sobbed helplessly into the older boy's neck. "It's a-all m-my f-fault sh-sh-she w-went."

He could see confusion written all over Kurt's face, but the other boy still tried to placate him, "No… no it's not."

Blaine was aware that Kurt probably had no idea what he was talking about, so how could he possibly believe him? "Y-Yes it is." He wept, thinking of all the times he had pressed his mother for her time; asked her to play dolls with him. "Sh-She c-couldn't w-want m-m-me anymore. B-Because I'm… g-gay. I-I-I'm so… _wrong_. This all h-happened b-b-because I'm…" He couldn't finish anymore. He had seen the hurt flash across Kurt's face, and could feel the older boy's hands stiffen over his back. He hadn't meant it like that.

"I'm s-sorry." He apologised feverishly. All he ever did was hurt the people he cared about. He hadn't meant that it was a bad thing for Kurt to be gay; he was perfect. "I'm s-so s-s-sorry." He iterated tearfully again.

As quickly as Kurt's hand had stopped smoothing concentric circles on the younger boy's back, it started up again, "No, don't be." Kurt soothed. "Don't be sorry. None of this is your fault, okay?"

The younger boy did not believe him.

Blaine didn't know how long it took for the tears to subside, or for his sweaty form to stop shivering, but at long last, his breathing evened out and he was able to move away from Kurt's gentle grip, eyes cast downwards onto the bedclothes in shame. He felt the same sharp, jabbing pain in his backside as he had before, but thankfully, it seemed to have at least diminished slightly.

"Blaine." Kurt whispered in a small voice, reaching for his hand. "Please look at me."

Blaine, despite his shame, had never been able to deny Kurt anything, so fearfully, he glanced up into the older boy's pale face, only to see his cheeks decorated in tears. The tightness in his throat and chest rose up again: his selfishness had caused Kurt to cry.

"I'm s-"

"Don't you dare say you're sorry, Blaine Anderson." Kurt warned him quite fiercely, swiping his own tears away before taking Blaine's hand again, carefully avoiding the needle and tubing. "This isn't your fault, I mean it."

Blaine so badly wanted to believe him, but he couldn't, so he just bit his lip and looked down.

"Another nightmare?" Kurt asked tentatively.

Blaine hesitated, "I… I don't… they're n-not-" he stammered softly.

"It's okay." The older boy soothed, always his patient self. "It's okay."

"They're not exactly… nightmares," Blaine admitted quietly. "More like… memories." He looked away again when Kurt's eyes turned sad; he didn't want to be pitied, and he especially didn't want to upset his best friend yet again. "But… but this one… the end… the end…" He squeezed his eyes shut; frustrated that he could not get the words out.

"It's okay."

He could feel the pads of Kurt's thumbs stroking his right hand in comfort and felt guilty. Kurt was giving him so much and he couldn't give anything in return; he couldn't even tell him about a nightmare. His father's furious face just crowded his mind, and the feel of his assailant ramming brutally inside him somehow prevented him from speaking. He felt too scared.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Blaine trying to rid himself of the awful images inside his head, and Kurt just comforting him in whatever ways he could. Blaine tensed slightly when the older boy reached up to card a hand gently through his curls, but relaxed seconds later. He had to keep telling himself that Kurt wouldn't hurt him. He trusted him more than anyone. Yet it felt so wrong having Kurt take care of him when the older boy should be angry with him; furious for leaving and hurt for the awful things Blaine had just implied. And the situation felt so strange: six years ago, it had always been Blaine looking out for Kurt, trying to be the strong one. Yet now, he couldn't seem to find that strength.

"Kurt." he whispered into the silence, opening his eyes to peer up at the beautiful boy beside him.

"Yeah?" Kurt gazed back at him with such tenderness that Blaine wanted to cry again. He couldn't remember anyone being this gentle with him in a long time.

"Th-Thank you… for… being here." He said in a small voice, but with as much sincerity as he could.

Kurt produced a genuine smile, "There's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."

Regardless of all other doubts, Blaine could not help but believe the other boy this time, and he thought he felt just a little bit of the pain in his heart ebb away. To be cared for and wanted by this beautiful person was a little overwhelming.

"I'm s-sorry." He sniffed, unable to help himself. There were so many things he needed to apologise for, even if Kurt and Burt had tried to comfort him by disregarding his faults.

"Stop it." Kurt answered sternly, and Blaine did his best not to cower under the intensity of the older teenager's gaze. "No apologies. You have nothing to apologise for, do you understand?"

Blaine did not understand. He did not think he understood anything anymore. He had spent the last twenty-four hours or so in a sleepy, feverish stupor and he was so scared and confused, but he did not want to upset Kurt again so he forced himself to nod, even though it made his head ache.

More silence reigned and Kurt continued to soothe Blaine with his reassuring ministrations. The younger boy was almost tempted to drift off again, but each time he felt the grasps of sleep clutching at him, he moved into the most uncomfortable position possible. He couldn't go back to sleep. Here he could at least try and pretend to himself that everything was okay, especially with Kurt by his side, but in sleep, he had to face so many painful memories, with no way out, and he had to evade it.

"Why don't you try to sleep again, honey?" Kurt said softly, apparently noticing Blaine's drooping eyelids.

The younger boy shifted again, wincing in the process, but he shook his head determinedly, despite the endearment that left the older boy's lips.

"Why not?" Kurt asked gently.

Blaine thought of his father dominating the place of the rapist and whimpered. "I… I can't." he whispered fearfully.

"Because of the… memories?" Kurt asked, clearly trying his best to understand, and for that, Blaine was extremely grateful. He nodded in response.

"I'll wake you up again if they get bad."

Blaine shook his head again, eyes pleading with Kurt to understand, "I can't… please, I just… can't."

"Okay." Kurt relented, squeezing his hand gently. "Okay, let's just sit here."

Blaine nodded gratefully and realised for the first time that there was a space next to where Kurt sat; the place where Burt had been before. Kurt followed his eyes and seemed to have sensed what was going on in his mind because he nodded to Blaine's other side, smiling tiredly.

"He fell asleep."

Sure enough, as Blaine turned, trying to ignore the discomfort, he saw that Burt had dozed off in the white plastic chair, his head resting on his chest, snoring quietly. Instantly, guilt rose up within Blaine. He had dragged both Hummel's' – the two people he cared about most in the world – to the hospital, and because he was acting up so much, they had had to stay there with him, exhausting themselves. Blaine glanced back up at Kurt and saw the dark circles under his gorgeous blue eyes, and now that he looked closely, his skin was paler than ever, almost chalk white. He hated himself for doing this to Kurt. He opened his mouth to apologise again but the older boy cut him short:

"If you're about to say you're sorry again, you can stop right there." Kurt chastised him quietly.

"But I am." Blaine said, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.

"Well don't be." Kurt replied seriously.

"I woke you up." Blaine guessed, upset but surprised he was still able to read Kurt so well. "You were sleeping too weren't you, and my… nightmare woke you?"

Kurt's mouth opened once or twice, as if he was considering lying to the question, but he took one look at Blaine's face and sighed, "I… yes… you woke me-"

Blaine couldn't hold back a whimper as he inwardly berated himself.

"-But it's okay, do you hear me?" Kurt insisted. "It's okay. I can go without a bit of beauty sleep. I'm just glad to be here with you."

"But Kurt, you look so tired." Blaine said regretfully, eyes sweeping over his wonderful best friend again.

"I'm fine." Kurt said emphatically, squeezing the younger boy's hand again to highlight his statement. "I promise you."

Blaine sniffed, but eventually nodded.

"Okay?" Kurt prompted.

"O-Okay." Blaine acquiesced softly, though he still couldn't rid himself of the guilt and worry for the other boy.

Kurt smiled tenderly, "Good."

After a few more moments of quiet, during which he now became attuned to Burt's more augmented snores, Blaine whispered, "Kurt?"

"Hhm?" The older boy hummed in reply, his hand moving up to stroke back through Blaine's sweaty dark curls.

"Where's… um… C… Ca... um…" he stumbled, trying to recall the name of Burt's fiancé.

"Carole?" Kurt supplied gently, to which Blaine nodded. "She's talking to Doctor Carlton. Because she's a nurse, she's used to staying awake for a long time."

"She's… she's really nice." Blaine whispered softly.

"Yeah, she is." Kurt agreed, a small smile playing on his lips. "I've not seen my dad so happy in… years."

Blaine tried his best to smile, but he worried that it came out as more of a grimace. "Are… have… have you been happy?" he asked timidly, because he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. If Kurt had been completely happy without Blaine there, the younger boy knew that he wouldn't be welcome with the Hummels'; the thought that Kurt didn't want or need him anymore would hurt, and if Kurt said that he had been unhappy… well, Blaine would never forgive himself.

"I… I'd have been happier with you here." Kurt finally settled on.

"I'm s-"

"Stop it." Came Kurt's firm response. "You're here; that's all that matters. And you're going to get better, I promise."

"I don't mean to… hurt you… or… be… rude to the doctors." Blaine desperately tried to explain. He needed Kurt to understand, even if no one else did. He hated himself even more when he felt tears begin to pool in his eyes again, the familiar lump forming in his throat. "I swear I d-don't m-mean to."

"I know you don't." Kurt hushed him, gently and perfect as always, but for some reason it only made the tears flow faster. "Oh Blaine, please don't cry." The older boy leant down and wiped away the stubborn tears with his soft, pale hands. "I think even after all these years, I know you better than anyone, so I know you don't mean to hurt people. And you don't. You're the sweetest guy I've ever known. You're just… so scared and… hurt… and you have every right to be."

"I can't get them out of my h-head, Kurt." Blaine whispered fearfully, images of both his attacker and his father on the night he ran away jutting into his mind once again. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to will them away.

"Who?"

Blaine sniffed as he tried to form the words. He couldn't. He felt like he was regressing back to his four-year-old self, terrified of what his father would do to him if he dared to even open his mouth to speak. Except he was still petrified of his father, and now he was constantly assaulted with the painful recollections of his attacker; the knowledge that he had lost his precious first time to a rapist who, at any time, may return. And especially, the knowledge that it was all his fault was enough to break him entirely. It did break him. He cried and cried, with Kurt constantly trying to calm him until he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

"T-Try to sleep, Blaine. Sleep and you'll… you'll start to get better." Kurt murmured anxiously, and although by this time Blaine's eyes were so puffy and he was so exhausted that he couldn't actually see the other boy's face, Blaine could hear the break in the beautiful soprano voice.

"I-I'm s-sorry." He pleaded deliriously. Although the world was slowly fading to black, he tried with all his might to fight back. However, this time, it wasn't working, no matter how uncomfortable he made himself, he could feel the real world slipping away, lulling him back into unconsciousness. The last words he heard before he went under were:

"Oh, Blaine."

* * *

Light filtered through the gaps in the rather drab hospital blinds, and the sound of birdsong at close proximity shook Burt out of sleep. He cleared his throat a couple of times before daring to blink. It was strange; they rarely had birds land on the windowsill at home, so why had they started now? He shifted slightly and gave an audible groan. His back ached like the blazes and his neck was in such an awkward position, he began to suspect he had fallen back into the bad habits he had maintained before Carole moved in, and he had drifted off to sleep on the couch. Slowly, he popped his eyes open and was confronted with the white cotton sheets of a hospital bed. The person occupying the bed, with tear-streaked cheeks and a fearful facial expression, even in sleep, brought everything crashing back into place. Blaine. They had found Blaine at long last. But in the worst possible way.

"Oh, Jeez." He croaked, clearing his throat, and running his hands tiredly over his eyes. He was still sitting in that awful white plastic chair; he must have dozed off very early this morning. He prayed that Blaine hadn't needed him whilst he had been out. Why hadn't Carole or Kurt woken him? Suddenly, he sat up. Carole and Kurt…

He looked over quickly at the far side of the room to find Kurt sitting slumped and defeated in his chair, also with dirty tear stains coating his face, his eyes red-rimmed with dark circles surrounding them. He looked like he had been awake all night. And there he was, still staring dutifully down at his best friend.

"Kurt?" he sighed, his heart breaking at the sight of his baby boy looking so devastated, and the other person he classed as a son, lying brokenly in a hospital bed.

Kurt's chin trembled slightly at the concern in his tone, but his gaze remained unwaveringly on Blaine. "There's coffee on the table over there," he said so monotonously he sounded like one of the living dead, lifting a hand and pointing vaguely to the movable table at the foot of Blaine's bed. "A nurse brought some in for us."

Burt eyed the half-full coffee pot and dreaded to think how much of the substance Kurt had taken in order to stay awake. The mechanic made no move towards the caffeine drink, instead staring in concern at his son.

"Kurt, have you been awake all night?"

Kurt's chin trembled again, as he visibly fought to keep himself together. "N-No. I… I fell asleep for a bit after y-you did… b-but… h-he was screaming in his sleep and it w-woke me, and h-he was so upset." As Kurt's dad, Burt had pinpointed the exact tells when he knew his boy was going to cry, and he carefully eased himself out of the chair, ignoring his back cracking, reaching Kurt just as he broke down crying. He wrapped his arms around his son, and the boy nestled his head into his neck, sobbing, "He c-c-cried himself to s-s-sleep and I c-couldn't leave him. What if he had another nightmare and I didn't w-wake him?"

"So you stayed up with him all night." Burt finished for him, feeling Kurt nod against him. No wonder the boy was a mess. He'd had an emotional rollercoaster of a day, and then during the night too, without any sleep and half a large pot of coffee. "Why didn't you wake me?" he demanded softly.

"You w-were so t-tired-"

"So were you, and you still are." Burt said emphatically, nodding towards the teenager's blurry eyes. "Bud, you're going to be no use to him if you're in this state. It's just going to make him feel even worse, and you know it."

Kurt let out another spasmodic sob, "All he could d-do was a-a-apologise, dad. He just kept saying s-s-sorry over and over again. He has n-nothing to be sorry for."

"I know. I know." Burt whispered, wishing he could be more helpful with his responses, especially since his son was having a breakdown of his own. "Carlton said that he'd try and contact a hospital psychiatrist to come and talk to Blaine, and then we'll make a plan of action."

"He's not going to the psych ward!" Kurt reiterated fiercely, pulling away from him and speaking with such moral passion that he really reminded Burt of Elizabeth; the same vivacious blue eyes and defiant expression.

"No he's not." He agreed readily. "We established that already. He's coming home with us." He glanced down at poor Blaine and sighed sadly, thinking of the long road of recovery that was ahead for the boy. "But there are so many things that need to be sorted out. He's going to be emotionally out of it for a while. The physical side: dietary plans and all that 'cause he's so underweight and unused to rich foods, physio for that broken arm of his-"

"How do you know all that?" Kurt asked, his tears subsiding as he stared at him in wonder.

"I asked Carole yesterday." He shrugged, glancing around the room as if expecting his fiancé to just miraculously materialise. "Speaking of Carole, where is she?"

Kurt sniffed and wiped his now runny nose with the back of his hand, bringing home to Burt just how horrific the situation was; his son never engaged in such a messy action. He would rather carry around a pocket handkerchief. "Finn drove back earlier. She went home to check on him and to get a couple of hours sleep."

Burt attempted a chuckle for Kurt's benefit, even though he didn't feel remotely cheerful either, "Knowing Finn he'd have invited half of McKinley round if there was no adult supervision at all last night."

He felt his heart pull when Kurt just shrugged, not even raising a smile. His eyes were just trained on Blaine, his expression utterly miserable.

"He's going to be okay, bud." Burt stated, though he wished he could go so far as to promise it, especially for Blaine's sake. The amount of pain he had seen in the kid's eyes the previous day had been absolutely unbearable. He was only fifteen and already dealing with so much hurt.

"How can you know that?" Kurt asked despairingly, briefly turning those bright blue eyes that were so much like Elizabeth's on him.

"I… don't." Burt hated to admit it. "But we'll get him every ounce of help he needs, I _can_ promise that." He added with as much ferocity as he could muster.

"He'll never forget." Kurt sniffed, his hand travelling under his nose again, and Burt thought he almost definitely preferred the in-control boy who constantly berated him for not carrying around a handkerchief.

"No," Burt wished he could say something else, but he knew he couldn't lie. He couldn't see the boy ever quite getting over all of this. His best option would be to carry on and fight it out, even though the first fifteen years of his life had already been one long battle. "But he can move on. He can create new, better memories." He studied in son's tear-stained face and ruffled his hair in a way which the boy claimed to hate, but really, he knew he appreciated the act of affection. "But for him to do that," he said, smiling slightly as Kurt's hand automatically shot up to carefully reposition his hairdo. "we need to be bright and bushy-tailed and absolutely there for him."

"I'm not going to sleep." Kurt told him obstinately, as if he had read Burt's thoughts. "If he wakes up I want to be there for him."

"You _have_ been there for him." Burt stated calmly, though he desperately wanted to knock some sense into his boy, or better still, some sleep. "You were up with him all night. He'd understand if you went and-"

"No, dad." Kurt replied mulishly, turning his gaze back on Blaine in a way which told Burt the suggestion was out of the question and that particular corner of the conversation was unequivocally over.

Burt sighed in frustration and tiredly ran a hand over his eyes again, though he now realised the need for a conversation change. There was no way he was getting through to Kurt when he was in this mood. "I'm actually quite surprised we were allowed to stay the night with him." he said gruffly, stretching his aching back and shuffling over to the movable table to pour some much-needed coffee, though he purposely did not serve Kurt another cup. He had had enough caffeine.

Kurt's eyes remained on Blaine as he produced a half smile, "One of the perks of having your fiancé work at the hospital, I suppose."

Burt thought of how wonderful Carole had been yesterday, both in understanding and in her gentle nature towards a terrified Blaine, and he also smiled. He knew he was marrying the right woman. He had been nervous at the prospect re-marrying, because he had been so convinced that he wouldn't after Elizabeth died, but Carole was just… wonderful. He knew he would forever miss Elizabeth, just as Carole would always miss her late husband, but he knew he loved the woman. "Yeah, I guess."

Then Kurt said something he wasn't expecting.

"Blaine likes her." He said softly, and Burt almost dropped the coffee server in surprise. He turned around and faced his son, surprise etched on his face. "When he woke up, he said that Carole was nice." He chanced a smile at Burt, and the mechanic cleared his throat gruffly, even though his heart soared a little. "He only met her for a few minutes, dad, and he already liked her. And so do I and… and I'm really glad you two found each other."

"You're forgetting there, buddy," Burt said, keeping his tone teasing but gentle all the same, carrying his now full mug of coffee, and his chair over to where Kurt sat. "that you introduced us because we… what was it? Oh yes… we both had dead spouses so obviously we should obviously get together, or something along those lines."

Kurt groaned and covered his face with one hand, clearly remembering the incident with shame, whilst Burt chuckled lightly, clapping the kid on the shoulder. He had suspected at the time that the move had had something to do with Kurt having a slight crush on Finn, but he knew that was long gone, so he believed that there was no need to ever mention it. That would just create unnecessary tension between the two boys, and for him as well.

"You're never going to let me forget that are you?" Kurt said quietly, though Burt was glad that his son looked slightly more cheerful for the playful jibe.

"Not on your life, bud." He replied, ruffling Kurt's hair again, earning a small 'stop it', though nothing more major than that. "I bet that one would get Blaine laughing." He smiled, though it converted into a frown when he saw the small boy in the bed squirm and whimper, as if in the throes of another painful nightmare. His heart broke yet again upon seeing the kid he once viewed as so cheeky and so confident, looking so broken.

"Please, not again." Kurt murmured fearfully from beside him.

"It's a long road to recovery." Burt reminded him, clapping him on the shoulder in reassurance.

"And all we can do is be there." Kurt finished, his voice laced with determination.

"Right." Burt took a studious sip of his coffee, pulling a face when he realised it was now largely cold, and tasted of ditch-water, before he consulted the clock over on the far side of the wall, reading 7:18am. Without glancing at his son, he trained his eyes back on Blaine, who released another small moan. "Almost twenty past seven. You should be getting up and driving to school at this time."

The answer he received was the one he had been expecting, "I'm not going to school, dad." Came his son's firm, but flat reply.

Burt suppressed a smirk, because he knew his son would react that way. He didn't expect anything less of him. He took a few more gulps of lukewarm coffee. "Fair enough."

**Like I said, it was a bit of a filler chapter. Next, we shall meet the hospital psychiatrist who shall consult with Blaine throughout the story so it's an important moment, and if there's room, we shall finally move on and Blaine will go home with the Hummels. I'm aware that maybe the pace needs to be picked up so if people agree I'll try and fulfill that. Please review, follow and favourite and let me know your thoughts :) Next chapter will be up asap.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you for all of the reviews - they really mean a lot and I know the story is going quite slowly at the moment. Here is one more filler chapter here (which I hope people like) and then next chapter things will move on a little. Please enjoy and review :)**

True to his word, Doctor Carlton consulted with the hospital psychologist who promptly recommended a specialist who, though she was not officially a member of the hospital staff, was often brought in because of the long list of creditable results she attained. When Carlton had popped in to inform them of this come late morning, both Burt and Kurt had been somewhat sceptical. Successful results on a computer balance sheet were _not _what they were looking for; they needed someone who would and could put the time and effort in, on a practical basis, to understand what Blaine had been through and hopefully, eventually, help him overcome his past. Carole may have been better at explaining these needs than either of the Hummel men, who were both a little too emotionally attached, and knew it. However, Carole had not yet ventured back into work which initially, Burt had put down to the fact that she would be tired after being on her feet all night, and thus she rightfully deserved a lie-in, but then as the afternoon arrived, he began to suspect his wonderfully understanding fiancé was leaving them to it until she was needed, not wanting to cause Blaine any unnecessary anxiety by having a stranger around him. So Burt and Kurt played the waiting game until the specialist, Doctor Rosemary Summers, showed up.

Burt had called Jim, his right-hand man at work to let him know he wouldn't be in that day, and simultaneously, the loyal mechanic had informed him that he had finished up clearing out the spare room for him the night before, shortly before Finn arrived home, and had a bed and mattress order. Burt gratefully ensured his friend that he would pay the bill when he was able to leave the hospital. His next call had been to McKinley to inform the secretaries that Kurt would not be at school for the next couple of days because of a family emergency. Kurt did not know why, but it he felt good, almost happy – a contrasting feeling to his overriding mood of misery that day – when his dad inferred to Blaine being family. It felt… right.

The horrible, vicious cycle of Blaine sleeping peacefully for a few hours and then waking up screaming continued throughout the day, with no rest. Burt was now able to see just why Kurt had been in the state he had been early that morning, because literally every time Blaine awoke crying, he apologised profusely for every little detail: causing their lack of sleep, taking up their time, leaving Kurt alone all those years ago, and then, for some things the mechanic could not even understand. The most disturbing feverish apology came in the form of 'I killed her', and although Burt was certain little Blaine Anderson wouldn't harm a soul, just hearing the words spill from the kid's lips worried him. Just _what_ had Jonathan Anderson been brainwashing his son into believing of himself? The boy only stayed awake for a few minutes each time – an hour at best, though most of it was spent with him sobbing, or dealing out these consistent apologies, no matter how much the Hummel men tried to encourage him otherwise, before he slipped exhaustedly into unconsciousness again. It was a sight that literally pulled at the heartstrings.

It had to be around the fifth time that Blaine had woken up that day, and fortunately, he was relatively calm this time, that Doctor Rosemary Summers arrived, introduced by Carlton himself. Burt stood politely to greet the woman, though at the mere sight of Carlton, Blaine whimpered and closed his eyes, squeezing Kurt's hand tightly, a gesture which the older boy gladly returned. Moments later, Carlton got the message and excused himself.

Doctor Summers was not quite what Burt had been expecting. Though he had no real experience of psychologists, or psychiatrists for that matter, he had been picturing in his head something to the effect of a tall, middle-aged, stuffy, eagle-eyed woman with a tweed jacket, a long tartan, pencil skirt and horn-rimmed glasses. Summers was almost the antithesis of this. Granted, she was quite tall, and she did look as though she was approaching her mid-forties, however all other stereotypical features were absent. Rather than a tweed jacket and tartan skirt, she wore a pale pink fleecy polo neck top and smart blue jeans, tucked neatly into comfortable-looking, low heel boots. Her long, brown hair had been scooped up into a ponytail rather than a tight bun – another feature that both Burt and Kurt had admittedly imagined, and she did not wear glasses, horn-rimmed or otherwise. Nor did she exhibit narrow, eagle-eyes. Her jade green eyes and her face as an overall picture radiated kindness and a quiet professionalism.

Burt thought he felt himself relax slightly, and looked over at Blaine, trying to gauge the boy's reaction, however his eyes were still tight shut, as if blocking out the world would ease his helpless fears. He sighed anxiously and looked back at the specialist, whose eyes were also trained on Blaine, an intent but otherwise unreadable expression upon her face. Summers turned back to him after several moments, moved the clipboard and pen she had been holding loosely in one hand and extended her other towards him.

"Rosemary Summers." She introduced herself in a friendly, but professional manner.

Burt shook the specialist's hand politely, "Burt Hummel." He nodded towards Kurt who was eyeing Summers suspiciously. "This is my son, Kurt, and…" he paused as he saw Blaine begin to tremble slightly in the bed. The poor kid knew there was someone new in the room, and he was already terrified before even seeing them. "and this is Blaine." He finished as gently as possible, hoping the teenager would gather the courage to open his eyes. He didn't.

Summers nodded to them all politely before releasing Burt's hand, glancing briefly at her clipboard. Burt wondered what was written on there, however he figured that because it looked remarkably similar to Carlton's clipboard, she must have borrowed the doctor's case notes. After a few moments, Summers moved towards the chair which Burt had vacated.

"Would it be alright if I sat here?" she asked politely, and Burt nodded his consent, moving over to the far corner of the room where an abandoned plastic chair sat, unused until this moment, seating himself there to watch over the situation. Blaine must have heard the woman speak because the quivering increased. He noticed that Kurt tried to hush him every once in a while, but his son's words didn't seem to be having much of the desired effect.

"Hi, Blaine." Summers said softly, but not patronisingly, assessing Blaine's reactions with her eyes, though her mouth held a gentle smile. "My name is Doctor Rosemary Summers." She paused, waiting for any response from the shaking, terrified boy on the bed. He still did not open his eyes. "I've heard… and I can see, that you've been through a lot." Burt saw Blaine's chin tremble as she paused again. "If you'll let me, I'm here to try and help you." Another pause. "I'm not here to hurt you, Blaine, I promise." She said calmly before repeating emphatically. "I'm only here to try and help. For me to do that, I need for us to be able to communicate, and I think for this to happen we need to learn to trust each other. Eye contact, however brief, is a good first step, don't you think?"

Burt watched Blaine for any minute difference in response, other than the shaking wreck of a boy. When there was none, he looked back to Summers, waiting for her next move. She did not make one. She paused for a minute, then two, then three, waiting patiently, but not pushing the terrified kid. For that, Burt was grateful. He didn't know much about the human mind, but he knew Blaine and he knew that the boy couldn't handle even the slightest pressure at the moment.

After a few more minutes, Blaine opened and closed his mouth several times, a fraught, choking sound reverberating from his throat, as if he was trying and struggling to speak. Eventually, he whispered a shaky, "K-Kurt?"

Instantly, Kurt was leaning forwards, his grip still tight on Blaine's good hand, his eyes fiercely protective of his younger friend, "I'm right here, honey." He promised softly, and Burt thought he sounded so much like his mother at that moment, it was unreal. "I'm still here."

Blaine, still with closed eyes, made another attempt at forming a sentence before he pleaded quietly to Summers, "P-Please don't… don't s-send m-me back. P-Please don't m-make them l-leave."

"I'm staying right here, Blaine, I promise." Kurt stated, staring at the specialist as if daring her to object.

Summers however, just smiled good-naturedly. "You're not going back anywhere, Blaine. And if you want them here, then Kurt and Burt are quite welcome to stay. Anything that makes you feel comfortable."

Upon hearing this, the quivering in Blaine's body seemed to ease up slightly, and he let out a small but clearly sincere, "Th-Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." The specialist replied kindly. After a brief pause, she wheedled her request again, "Would you mind opening your eyes for me, Blaine?" Burt watched as she nodded to Kurt, silently encouraging him to aid her in her attempts to coax Blaine out of his current state. The mechanic had to admit that this woman was good; she had only been in the room ten minutes and she had already sussed out the unbreakable bond between Kurt and Blaine. If you needed one to do something, then get the other one to help the cause and the results came about twice as fast.

Sure enough, when Kurt gently encouraged, "It's okay, Blaine. No one's going to hurt you. You can open your eyes", a few seconds later, the younger boy's eyes flickered open hesitantly, one at a time. Blaine didn't seem to be able to quite meet the woman's eyes for a few minutes, and when he did, he hastily glanced away again, but it was certainly progress.

"Hi, Blaine." Summers said calmly, that same gentle smile on her face as before, her eyes again surveying the kid. It was as if she had the power to see everything the boy was feeling just from looking into his broken, deadened hazel eyes. "Now that you're here in all senses of the word, let's introduce ourselves to each other properly, eh?"

She paused, waiting for his response. It was a mark of how much Kurt's words had gotten through to him that Blaine felt comfortable enough to nod his assent.

"Okay, I'm Doctor Rosemary Summers." The woman explained carefully. "I'm here to just ask a few questions that will help us understand a little bit about how you're feeling, and because you're not really up to seeing any police officers about the assault-"

Blaine's eyes widened in fear at the prospect and the slightest reminder of the attack; he began to tremble again. Summers noticed and she was quick to reassure him.

"- I'll just ask a few questions about that as well. You don't have to answer them if you don't want to, Blaine. Just know that in the long-run it may well help to talk about it, okay?"

This time, Blaine didn't nod. He only looked fearfully towards Kurt who, Burt could see, was only just about keeping it together himself. The encouraging smile stretched onto his face was far to strained to be legitimate. Again, Summers didn't push the matter. She waited a good few minutes, giving both boys time to collect themselves before continuing slowly.

"We'll just start with some easy questions, okay?" she said, looking Blaine in the eye to emphasise her point, though the boy didn't seem capable of staring back at the moment. His despondent gaze had reverted to the bedclothes.

Burt wished that there was something he could do that would prevent Blaine undergoing this awful scrutiny. Even though Burt knew that ultimately this would help Blaine along the tentative first steps of recovery, another side of him wanted to neglect the official system and just take the kid home.

"Could you just tell me your full name?"

Kurt, who already seemed to be running a short fuse patience-wise, snapped suddenly, "You already know that! Why are you asking him stupid questions that you already know the answers to when he obviously just wants to be left alone?"

Summers appraised and addressed Kurt calmly, but with a gentleness that Doctor Carlton's patronising tone the day before hadn't contained, "From what we have gathered Blaine hasn't lived in Lima for a little while; we have no doctors records and no filed medical history as of yet. With a full name and a date of birth we may be able to track these down. Apart from anything, Doctor Carlton needs to know if Blaine is allergic to anything that he may prescribe."

The entire time the specialist spoke, Blaine just stared blankly at the coverlet. Burt was concerned that he did not seem to react at all to these words. The kid had suddenly transformed from a terrified, quivering wreck to a case of completely blank disassociation.

"Fine," Kurt retorted and Burt closed his eyes tiredly. He knew that his son just wanted to protect his best friend, but now just wasn't the right time. However much Burt hated this lousy process himself, in the long-run, it would help Blaine so he knew intervening was unwise. "_Fine_. His full name is Blaine Devon Anderson and his date of birth is June 5th 1995. Happy?"

"Kurt." Burt interjected sharply, and Kurt's head turned so rapidly towards his direction that it must have given him neck-ache. He hated how betrayed his son looked that he wasn't backing him up on this, but he knew he was doing the right thing. "Just let Doctor Summers do her job, bud." He nodded pointedly at Blaine's positively catatonic state. The boy hadn't moved since Summers asked her first question, and he was aware that Blaine needed to react to these questions himself if the specialist was going to figure out the correct way to heal him.

Kurt's face went chalk white when he saw the younger boy's expression, and he clamped his mouth shut, whispering a brief 'sorry'.

"That's quite alright, Kurt." Summers answered kindly, and Burt wondered if Kurt's reaction happened all the time from friends and family members because she seemed well-practiced in responding to it. She turned her attention back to a still very blank-looking Blaine, "Kurt's made it easier for you, Blaine… those are two questions you don't need to answer now." She said calmly, writing her findings on the clipboard in her lap.

Once she had finished, she paused, studying Blaine again. He still wasn't moving. He was barely blinking.

"Blaine." She said gently, quietly commanding his attention.

Again, he did not respond, just staring wide-eyed at the bedclothes.

"_Blaine_." Summers repeated, a little louder and with more insistence than before.

He suddenly blinked, hurriedly looking up at the woman as if he had forgotten her presence completely, retreating into his own terrifying world. "I'm s-sorry." He whispered quickly, fear evident in his eyes.

"What are you apologising for?" she asked calmly.

Cowering away, as if scared he would be physically punished at any moment, Blaine stammered quickly, "I w-wasn't l-l-listening like I should be. I'm s-sorry. I-"

"That's okay." Summers was quick to reassure the boy, hastily scribbling some notes in shorthand, even though the majority of her attention was on Blaine himself. "I'm not angry." She nodded to the room at large. "None of us are going to get mad at you, and we're especially not going to hurt you for that, okay? If you're not ready to answer the questions or if you find yourself drifting off then we'll just wait – there's no time limit here. If you're up to it though, I'd especially encourage you to say what you're thinking if that happens again."

Blaine's cowering lessened slightly, and he even managed a small nod, though he still looked absolutely terrified.

"Good." She praised. "Okay, here we go again." She said lightly, her pen poised. "Are you aware of having any allergies to any form of medication?"

The question went down well, Blaine answering with a small shake of the head.

"Before you came here to the hospital, were you on any medication? Even over-the-counter stuff like Tylenol?"

Again, Blaine shook his head, his eyes wide and scared, but clearly sincere.

"Have you recently been taking or even, have you taken within the past few years, any illegal drugs? It's okay if you have – " she added hastily. "you're not going to get into trouble. We just need to find out some basic medical history."

Burt held his breath. He hoped Blaine wouldn't have succumbed to such a thing but six years had passed; six years too many in which the troubled boy had been forced to cope on his own, with violent Jonathan Anderson for a father, and he knew that kids with troubled childhoods often found solace in substance abuse or drugs. Also, Burt had heard stories of what it was like to live on the streets. It was rough and some felt the need to take goodness knows what in order to cope. So it came as a huge relief when Blaine instantly shook his head. He watched with a small, proud smile as Summers noted this down.

"Okay, you're doing really well, Blaine." The specialist commended before continuing with the questions. "Have you been in hospital at all during the last few years or so?"

Burt felt sick when the boy visible paled and froze. The silence was damning. It took only a few seconds for Blaine to start shaking again, the fear in his face intensifying. Jonathan had hurt his son so badly he had ended up in the hospital again hadn't he? Burt became conscious of the fact that his fingers were curling into tight fists and quickly tried to relax them.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt whimpered, his emotions already on edge due to his lack of sleep, tears welling in his expressive glasz eyes. "Please… no."

Of course, as had always been the case, Blaine took one look at Kurt's pale, tearful face and began to cry as well, apologising repeatedly for upsetting the older boy. Again. And as before, the kid wouldn't stop. It had been going so well. Burt lowered his head into his hands, wishing he knew how to deal with all of this; how to make it all better. He wished he had a time machine to alter his reaction to Jonathan's empty threat the day he took Blaine away to goodness knows where.

"Blaine," Kurt sniffed. "Please… just stop apologising. Please…"

Blaine tried to take notice, Burt could see that. But he could also see how difficult it was for him. It was as if he had been taught, or more like bullied into fearing almost everyone and into apologising for every little thing, whether it was his fault or not. It was a force of habit and suddenly they were telling him the opposite. The poor kid was clearly so confused and that was only adding to his fear. Burt was more inclined to believe that often Blaine had been made to apologise for things that were _not_ his fault, knowing Jonathan's extremely Machiavellian ways. The eldest Anderson had done it to his wife, and then he had the gall to do it to his youngest son, a kid who would demonstrate only sweetness and kindness, and once-upon-a-time, a childish naivety. Anderson had clearly taken advantage of the latter, manipulating it so that over the years, the kid had started to believe his every deprecating word.

For a while, Summers watched the proceedings, occasionally jotting things down.

"Please, Blaine." Kurt tried pleading with his friend again. "Stop."

"Take a few deep breaths, Blaine." Summers advised calmly, finally stepping in. Burt watched helplessly with a pained expression as the kid obeyed, desperately trying to right himself for Kurt's sake, however uncomfortable the inhaling breaths were due to the tube still feeding through his nose.

Eventually, Blaine calmed, though he looked thoroughly mortified at his outburst, and he kept whispering stagnated apologies every so often. Doctor Summers clearly thought it more prudent to move onto a different question for the moment. Burt thought he would have agreed until he realised the next question's actual topic.

"Blaine, I need you to really try and stay as calm as you possibly can for this, okay?" she pressed gently. "I know you're feeling poorly, and this is going to be upsetting, but it's necessary for the police to know about the assault."

Blaine tensed, tears dribbling down his cheeks again, though from the way his jaw was clenched, Burt could see that the boy was trying his hardest to stay strong and obey the specialist's instructions. This was the very last thing the kid wanted to talk about right now. He looked too tired and scared and tearful, but Burt so badly wanted to make the bastard that assaulted the boy pay, so he didn't interrupt. Kurt, who was emotionally wiped from Blaine's breakdown a few minutes previously, was clearly in no position to react either. He just watched miserably from the side-lines, his grip on Blaine's hand tighter than ever.

"Were you sexually active before?" Summers asked softly.

Blaine let out an awful, heartbroken squeak and shook his head. Kurt let out an audible sniff, and Burt gritted his teeth angrily.

"Do you remember what happened?" she continued carefully.

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, causing yet more tears to roll unchecked down his cheeks. It was clear the boy was reliving the dark, hellish moment in his mind. Biting his lip hard to suppress a whimper – an action which didn't really succeed, Blaine nodded slowly.

"Do you think you can describe what the assailant looked like?"

They all waited for a good few minutes for Blaine to summon the courage to reply. When he did, he made the same choking noises as before, obviously struggling to voice his memories, "T-Tall… s-strong" the kid sniffed, failing to conceal a sob. He bowed his head shamefully. "I'm s-sorry."

Burt knew he had to say something now. He couldn't let the kid be sorry for expressing fear; not when he was being so brave. "Don't be sorry, buddy." He said firmly. Blaine opened his eyes and looked to him vulnerably, seeking a reassurance he so desperately needed. "You're doing so good. You keep going." He encouraged.

He was pleased that Blaine listened and did not repeat the apologies this time.

The boy took several long inhaling breaths, this time without Doctor Summers needing to suggest such an action, and then continued faintly, "He w-wore a… b-black… h-hoody. C-Couldn't see his face p-properly… he h-had a b-balaclava."

"Do you remember the colour of the balaclava? Any patterns on it or was it plain?" Summers pushed gently.

Blaine began to shake once more, "S-Striped. I… I d-don't remember the colour… I d-didn't see his f-f-face for… for l-long. I'm s-sorr-."

"No, that's good, Blaine." The specialist praised soothingly, scribbling more notes onto the clipboard. "Did you see anything of his face?"

The teenager's chin trembled; he was beginning to show signs of falling apart again: "Eyes." He whispered fearfully, his own hazel orbs wide and staring suddenly at blank the wall in front of him, as if he was seeing the harsh eyes of his attacker projected right there in the hospital room. "H-His eyes." Blaine's voice rose considerably in pitch, further demonstrating his absolute terror.

"Do you recall the colour of the eyes? Were there any distinguishable features?"

Yet more droplets flowed unchecked down Blaine's sickly pale face and his trembling was growing increasingly violent and almost uncontrollable. As he sat virtually bolt upright in bed, staring fearfully at the wall, the odd spasmodic sobs becoming audible, Burt realised alarmingly just how much his beaten boy was a far cry from the kid he had known. Looking at Summers' calm, but clearly concerned eyes, Burt began to fear that maybe they had lost him for good; perhaps Blaine would not be able to heal from this, fully or otherwise.

"A-A-Angry." Blaine suddenly choked out, a rare note of ferocity to his usually gentle, and currently weak tone. It seemed that due to the wildness of his trembling, and the unthinkable image in his mind, Blaine was incapable of full sentences.

Summers seemed to understand.

"He was angry?"

Blaine didn't altogether confirm or deny the question; he seemed too absorbed in his own hellish nightmare. "H-He w-was s-s-so big and I-I couldn't f-fight h-him off. I b-begged him to stop and he w-w-wouldn't."

The poor boy was now fully sobbing again, grieving for something so precious that had been forcibly taken from him. Kurt too had tears running silently down his own cheeks, and his grip on Blaine's hand now seemed so fiercely protective that it was probably bruising.

"H-He kept … g-g-grunting…" Burt closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the abuse the boy was describing; the picture of an evil bastard getting himself off inside a terrified kid. It was too wrong… too heart-breaking and too… _sickening_ to bear thinking about. "A-And he s-s-sounded m-mad. I… I tried to g-get away… p-p-push him o-off and h-he… he b-b-bended m-my arm until it… it-"

Blaine did not even need to finish the sentence as all eyes fell on his broken arm.

"I-It h-h-hurt." He cried wretchedly, his nose running carelessly. "It all h-hurt. I d-didn't want it. I-I wasn't r-ready." He repeated the same words he had confessed to Burt yesterday.

"And he was wrong to do it, Blaine." Doctor Summers finally spoke, in a firm, emphatic voice, articulating slowly so that the boy, from wherever his head was at, may conceivably hear her. "It was wrong."

"I-I angered h-him." Blaine whispered tremulously, still not shifting eye contact from the white-washed wall so that he almost appeared to be talking to himself. Perhaps he was. "It w-was my f-f-fault… my p-punishment."

"Jeez, no!" Kurt suddenly cried, his voice passionate, though a little unsteady. The tears were still running strong, but that didn't stop him. "_No_, Blaine. This is not and _never_ will be _your _fault!"

"I told you that before, remember, bud?" Burt also decided to mention, hoping that if enough people regurgitated this fact for long enough, maybe, just maybe, Blaine would realise the truth in it.

Unfortunately, the kid did not seem to be listening, or if he was, he obviously did not believe them. If anything, he cried harder – huge sobs wracking his tiny, malnourished frame. "It was m-my f-f-fault! M-My punishment! H-He knew… he s-s-saw…"

"Blaine," Summers proceeded calmly; the voice of reason amongst a virtually hysterical family. "Why do you think you were being punished? Why do you think the attack was your fault?"

"B-B-Because… b-because of w-w-what happened that n-night-" Blaine's eyes widened further, as if he was once more realising there were people around him. He stopped abruptly, everyone wondering what he had been going to say.

"What night?" Summers questioned; her ears sharp, instantly catching the information.

Blaine did not answer. Instead, he continued to cry pitifully. He even made a visible effort to regain his natural breathing pattern, but he almost choked.

"What night, Blaine?" Summers pushed, apparently of the training to extract information out of a patient whilst they were at their most vulnerable.

Kurt did not seem to agree with this at all. At seeing his best friend crumble further, cowering away from the firmness in her voice, he snapped protectively: "Leave him alone!"

Burt did not intervene this time. The young boy in the bed looked dangerously pale, and was clearly weakening from the sheer momentum of the tears and memories assaulting his body and mind. Blaine had just had enough.

Summers glanced between the two boys, grasping that she was not going to get any further with that question. She opened her mouth to ask another when Blaine suddenly cried unexpectedly:

"I-It w-was my f-f-fault. He kn-knew… knew I'm …g… g-gay. He m-m-must've seen it – that's w-why h-he…"

And suddenly everyone understood. Blaine thought that just because he was gay and because he liked males, he _deserved_ to be harmed by another man. He actually thought that the rapist had realised he was gay and had done it to him because of it! Burt could not stop his fingers from curling into angry fists anymore; his blunt nails dug painfully into his rough palms, providing at least some feeling within his numb body.

"No, sweetie." Kurt whimpered miserably, rubbing the back of Blaine's hand soothingly with his thumb. "No, that… that isn't right, I promise."

Summers placed her pen and clipboard down carefully into her lap before clasping her hands together, a wedding band coming into view, encircling one of her fingers.

"Blaine." She stated calmly. "I want you to look at me."

Blaine continued to stare resolutely at the wall, choking down more sobs.

"Blaine." She repeated with more resolution. "Look at me."

The boy trembled some more and Burt was sure that if his body wasn't screwed together, he would fall apart completely

"Blaine." Was all she uttered this time.

The short but firm command in her voice seemed to make it virtually impossible to obey and gradually, the teenager's gaunt face turned so that his wide, dreading eyes were on her.

"Listen to me carefully. This isn't your fault, Blaine." Summers repeated both Hummels' sentiments emphatically. "If you come out of this with one thought in your head, it needs to be the realisation that this rape wasn't your fault."

Blaine opened his mouth to object tearfully, his face paler than ever, but was prevented by the specialist's swift continuation.

"Your sexual orientation – whatever it is – does not merit or excuse sexual assault." She stared at him intensely, as if to communicate her words through eye contact as well as words. Perhaps it was working to some extent, because the kid fortunately didn't look away. "Because, Blaine, that's what it was. You didn't want it, and you didn't deserve it. Therefore, it is rape. Whether you're gay or not – something it is extremely unlikely he would have realised just from appearance – you didn't want to have sex with him and so, it is him that's in the wrong. Not you. You were the victim. You're completely innocent in all this."

Burt could imagine any number of reasons for the rapist acting the way he did. Lima could be a rough town at times, with some people spiteful enough to hurt a kid in such a way just for fun and a bit on the side. Queens Park wasn't the safest of areas these days and he had read about and watched on the news that a number of muggings and rapes had taken place there – that was why he encouraged Kurt and his friends not to hang out there anymore. But he couldn't recall any of the victims being males. So could it be that the perpetrator was a closeted homosexual, who in an unaccepting town, committed such acts out of desperation? But that most certainly did not make it right. Burt (and he knew Kurt would as well though he wouldn't ever let him) would be glad to hunt down the asshole who harmed this kid and make _him_ hurt… badly and for a long, long time.

"This isn't your fault, bud." Burt decided to pick up the tail end of Summers' explanation quickly, before Blaine could gather a case against it; finding more ways to justify it and beat himself down. "Whoever hurt you is a sick, sick bastard and he'll be found and punished for what he's done, I promise you that."

Throughout his speech, the mechanic noticed that the teenager's already pale face was growing whiter still, and by the final few words, his skin had tinged green. Blaine was still releasing stagnated sobs amidst odd choking inflexions in his throat (his futile attempts to stop crying), and upon seeing the boy's eyes widen in shock, his had ripping from Kurt's to try and cover his mouth, Burt knew what was coming.

By the time Blaine had managed a small 'feel sick', Burt had sought out a small, disposable papier-mâché-like bowl sitting on the bedside table and placed it hastily under the boy's chin. The next few minutes were filled with the sight and sounds of Blaine retching pitifully into the container. Every time he did, he let out a helpless moan that continued to place cracks in the mechanics heart. The kid was so weak he couldn't even hold the damn thing himself so Burt crouched down and held it for him. He watched with his own stomach lurching as nothing but water, saliva and stomach acid found its way into the bowl. He dreaded to think when the kid last ate.

Kurt was brilliant. Despite his obvious pain (a part of Burt wanted to send his son out of the room so he didn't have to see this), Kurt steadfastly reclaimed Blaine's hand with one of his own and stroked his other soothingly through the younger boy's sweaty curls. His touch seemed to do wonder's for Blaine who calmed slightly after almost choking as he both sobbed and vomited.

"Try to calm down buddy," Burt advised him. "You're only making it worse by all these tears."

Kurt repeated his words; after a few, long minutes, Blaine's crying eased up and consequently, so did his sickness.

"Okay?" Burt asked the boy once he was sure the retching had stopped.

Blaine only nodded, bowing his head in shame, looking away from everyone in the room.

"It's okay, honey." Kurt whispered into the awkward silence. "It'll be alright."

Burt sighed heavily and got to his feet, ignoring the twinge in his back, carrying the disgusting bowl into the adjoining bathroom. He emptied its contents down the toilet and flushed it before moving back into the room.

He took one look at Blaine and then turned to Doctor Summers, who had been calm, but concerned throughout the previous proceedings.

"He's had enough." He said plainly, and was glad when she nodded.

"Yes." She agreed before facing Blaine again. Although the boy had now curled in on himself, looking away from everyone in mortification at what had just happened, she didn't seem to mind speaking to his retreated back just this once. She understood that he wasn't trying to be rude. "You've done very well, Blaine. I know it doesn't feel like it, but in the circumstances, you have." She looked down at her clipboard and then back up. "When you're feeling a bit better and a little more settled, I'll come talk to you again, okay?"

Blaine did not respond verbally, but he did not entirely forget his compulsive manners and he gave a half-nod.

"Okay. I hope you feel a bit better soon, Blaine." Summers smiled gently, standing and walking towards the door. "Mr Hummel, could I have word?"

Dreading to see what Summers' psychological assessment of Blaine was after that exhibition (not that it was the poor boy's fault of course), Burt nodded dully, following her to the door.

"I'll be back in a few minutes." He addressed to Kurt, who was eyeing them suspiciously. The teenager nodded reluctantly and went back to comforting his friend.

Once they were on the other side of the door, the sounds of he busy hospital ward flooded through Burt's ears. He could smell chlorine again and hear children laughing or crying from somewhere on the ward. Following the specialist up to a rather more secluded corridor, they sat in two vacant plastic chairs. Summers was silent for a few moments, flipping through her notes, of which he now noticed there were several pages worth. He could hear what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.

"I'm not putting him on the psych ward." He said stubbornly.

Summers looked back up at him calmly, "I wasn't actually going to suggest that." She admitted quietly.

"You weren't?" Burt asked, confused. He had to admit; he knew nothing of this area, but if it weren't for the fact that Blaine was… well, quite frankly, someone he classed as… his kid, then he would probably prescribe a bit of professional help himself.

"No." she answered simply. "I wasn't. I know that probably Bob Carlton and some of his colleagues might not agree with me, but I think he might benefit more from being in a loving environment."

"What do you mean?" Burt asked, hoping this 'loving environment' meant being with them.

She studied him for a second before replying, "Blaine is not only suffering from serious emotional and psychological shock as a result of the assault, but there are deeper factors… much deeper scars. From what I've been told, and from what I've seen, Blaine's reluctance to talk about anything prior to the rape – his home life for example… his family… shows that he's also in shock about that as well… like he's suffered something quite terrible at the hands of his family." He could hear the questioning tone in her voice.

"His mom killed herself… um… overdosed on sleeping pills when he was four. She was good to him, but she probably couldn't take living with his father anymore." Burt admitted darkly, rubbing a hand over his still tired eyes.

Summers noted this down. "His father was violent." She surmised, rather than asked. She was a smart one.

Burt couldn't help but grit his teeth, "Yes. After his mom died Blaine became his father's very own personal punching bag. And I am… terrified to think about what happened to him after they moved away." He admitted.  
At Summers' questioning look, Burt proceeded to tell her all that he had told Carole the day before. By the time he had finished, the mechanic was ashamed to realise his voice was cracking and he had shed a few of his own tears. He hastily swiped at them. His job wasn't to cry in this matter. He had to be the strong one.

"And you have no idea where Blaine and his father have lived for the past six years?"

"Nope." Burt growled. "If I did, I'd go and tear Jonathan Anderson limb from limb myself. The police wouldn't have a chance at getting there first." He didn't care that he was telling a specialist this. It was just how he felt. Weren't you supposed to be honest with these people?

"There's no need for that." Summers told him, although he was surprised to see that she was wearing a small smile. "From what you've told me, we have enough to at least start making a case to warrant Jonathan Anderson's arrest. If it's okay, I'll pass this information onto the police."

Burt shrugged his acceptance before frowning, "Doesn't that breach patient confidentiality or something, 'cause I'm not sure Blaine… in the state he's in, would want to tell the police all of this. He spent years hiding it?" He thought back to those five years in which the boy hid his home life from Burt, and from Kurt for at least a small amount of time.

Summers shrugged, "If it helps Blaine in the long-run, then it's my duty to report it." A glint appeared in her eye; the smile on her face growing shrewder. "And besides, he's not technically my patient… yet. I don't work here." She reminded him.

"Yet?" Burt questioned suspiciously.

She clasped her hands together, studying him seriously, "I think it'd be important, if Blaine takes an out-patient status, for him to talk to someone at least several times a week. It may not seem like it at the moment, but in seeing Blaine at his most vulnerable right now, it may be easier for him to talk to me in the future rather than someone unknown."

Burt nodded. That made sense.

"_If_ he agrees." Summers added diplomatically. "We can't after all, force him to do anything that he doesn't really want to do. At the moment, that would be deconstructive and could cause more damage than help."

Burt nodded again.

"If he agrees, the hospital can set up some appointments for him."

Burt nodded once more. He was beginning to feel a little dumb, but what else was he supposed to do?

"The problem lies in the fact that at the moment, Blaine is too traumatised to give the whereabouts of his father or exactly say what the man's done." Summers picked up their previous conversation.

Burt covered his face with his hands, groaning in frustration, "He just keeps apologising and… crying." He said despairingly.

Summers nodded understandingly, "He's going to be like this for a while. He just need to be around patient people who will let him know that he's loved and that it's okay to do certain things… to be who he is. And gradually… hopefully, he'll begin to let people in."

Burt sighed sadly.

"It's a long process." She continued solemnly, twisting her pen between her fingers, noticing his despair. "He may well have to overcome a lot of self-doubt and repressed memories in order to get to a place where he's comfortable enough to tell about his past."

Burt paused, "I want him to come home with me and Kurt." Summers looked as if she wanted to argue, so he continued pressingly. "We love him and we care about him… we searched for him for years and I'll be damned if he ends up back with his father, or if he ends up in some social care system that doesn't give a rats ass about him."

Summers smiled grimly, "It's unorthodox to say the least, and we'd have to do certain checks… there'd be visits from social services… I think Doctor Carlton's on the verge of calling them anyway… there'd probably be talks of fostering."

"But?" Burt wheedled, a small smile lighting his features as he realised that this woman really did seem to be on their side.

Summers sighed before her smile stretched candidly, "But I think right now Blaine just needs a loving environment it would be more beneficial to house him with you – people he trusts, rather than complete strangers."

"The kid pretty much lived with us for five years." Burt justified, recalling the number of times Blaine slept over at the Hummel household, and the long hours he would spend playing with Kurt in the back garden.

Summers nodded, before frowning thoughtfully, "This elder brother of his? Do you know where he is? Is there any way the hospital could contact him?"

Burt snorted angrily, remembering the illusive, self-centred Cooper Anderson, who had been in his very late teens when he saw him last. "No idea where he is. He ditched the family years ago. I don't think Blaine knows where he is either."

Summers nodded and noted this down on the clipboard. She paused. "Blaine's in a pretty poor physical condition. This is more Doctor Carlton's field than mine but since he's pretty malnourished, he may need someone from the hospital – a health expert to either check on him or for Blaine to come into the hospital at intervals."

Burt suddenly realised that they already had someone from the hospital living with them (that is, if Blaine was allowed to com home with them). He only hoped Carole wouldn't mind too much. She had already put up with enough from the Hummel family over the past few days as it was. "My fiancé is a nurse here." He supplied hopefully.

Summers' smile brightened, "That would be ideal." She admitted, closing her clipboard before standing and turning to face him fully. He did the same. "I'll have a talk with Doctor Carlton and he can perhaps meet with the hospital's social worker and we'll work something out." She reached out a hand to shake his and he repeated the action. "I'll see what I can do." She told him quietly.

"Thank you." Burt replied gratefully. He just had a feeling that if they could take Blaine home and give him a relatively stable home life, then maybe he would begin to be okay.

She flashed him one last comforting smile, patting his arm gently, before walking back down the corridor. It was only when she turned the corner that Burt broke down, collapsing back into his seat, hiding his face in his hands. There was a horrible tightness in his chest and his heart almost physically ached now. He released a long, frustrated groan and then rubbed furiously at more tears that had found themselves a place on his cheeks, readjusting his slipping baseball cap in the process. All the tears that had been cried between he, Kurt and Blaine today ought to be enough to fill a damn river, he considered bitterly. Once he had somewhat calmed down, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled a very familiar number.

"_Burt_?" Carole's soothing voice became audible.

Upon hearing her voice, But thought he might break down again so he did not reply.

The wonderful woman on the other end of the line seemed to understand him instantly, "_Do you need me, Burt?_" she asked simply.

"Yes, please." He answered croakily, realising he now had to go back into that room and be strong for those kids.

"_I'm on my way_."

**I hope people liked that. Next up, the story moves on - Blaine goes home with the Hummels, Kurt tries to explain his absence at school to his friends and we get to see Finn's reaction to everything. If there's anything you want to see in the story either soon or later please let me know. Thanks xx Please review :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you for all the reviews, favourites and follows - they really mean a lot! Here's the next chapter - moving on a little bit to Blaine's release from hospital. I had an idea and then it turned out to be a little longer than I originally anticipated, but I hope you like it anyway. The other stuff I hinted at in the note at the end of the last chapter will come up next, along with any suggestions you may have. Please review :)**

The next few days were stressful to say the least. There seemed to be an endless list of tasks to complete in order to try and secure Blaine into the Hummel household. Summers, for her part, proved to be a very useful and reliable ally. She worked with all her power, even as an outsider to the hospital staff, to help set in motion meetings involving people who would ultimately be able to grant Burt at least temporary custody of Blaine. Burt suspected that she was vastly exceeding what her job qualified her to actually do, as a psychiatrist and therapist, but he certainly wasn't complaining. In fact, he was beginning to realise just why Summers had such a glowing reputation. She literally did everything she could to help a patient.

Much of the interactions seemed to take place between Summers and the people involved, such as the hospital social worker, allowing Burt and Kurt to pretty much remain vigil at Blaine's bedside. One particularly helpful initiative Summers had undertaken was handling the police. She had typed up a report from the limited information Blaine had been able to recall about his attacker and handed it over to the police, who apparently were now attempting to sketch out an outline of the assailant's appearance. She had thankfully emphasised that Blaine was in no condition to be facing any pressing questions by intimidating police officers who could potentially come blundering in, pressuring the teenager for information as though he were a suspect rather than a victim. The police had also promised that they would try to keep their search for the attacker relatively subtle, so that only limited press would grow aware of the story. Burt had emphasised through Summers that Blaine's identity be kept quiet at all costs though, because the last thing the kid needed was the entirety of Lima, Ohio laughing behind his back. And Burt was prepared to bet that some vile people _would_ laugh if they found out that the rape victim was gay. He hated merely even thinking that but he had resided in Lima all his life, and with having lived with Kurt all these years, he knew just how awful some people could be.

It was just as well that Summers took care of many things, because Blaine did not seem to be getting much better. On that second night at the hospital, after Burt had called Carole following his conversation with Summers, they had spent a little more time with Blaine before admitting defeat, realising that they would have to return home at some point. Kurt, though he would never admit it, had been on the verge of collapse, having insisted on staying awake, sitting resolutely by his best friend's bedside for near enough forty-eight hours, and according to Carole, Finn was getting a little prickly that his family had 'virtually abandoned him' in favour of someone he had never met. It had been then that Burt had realised that they had yet to explain to Finn about Blaine most likely residing at the Hummel house, and he wasn't altogether sure he had told Blaine about Finn either, something which he quickly amended. Blaine took it just about as well as he had taken Carole's presence in the Hummels' lives. In other words, he had begun another round of fretful apologies about him being a burden and imposing on their life, and whilst Burt had attempted to quieten the boy, like before, it didn't really seem to have a long-lasting effect. The apologies continued.

After seeing Blaine's broken condition for those past couple of days, Burt had been convinced that his heart couldn't possibly be shattered into even tinier pieces, but he had been proven wrong when he had gently tried to inform Blaine that he, Kurt and Carole had to go home. Poor Blaine had misunderstood, believing that they were leaving him for good. He had been nothing short of hysterical, sobbing heavily that he was sorry and that he could be better, pleading with them in great distress not to leave him and send him back. Kurt of course had burst into tears alongside him, his tiredness and heightened emotions taking their toll, and for a few minutes, his son had stubbornly refused to leave Blaine's side, telling the adults to leave him there for the night.

Both Burt and Carole had been at a loss as to what to do. Their solution, though Burt was in no way pleased by it, came in the form of a young nurse, who had heard the commotion due to Blaine's feverish cries waking up half the neighbouring ward. She had promptly sedated the frenzied boy, even though Blaine begged her not to; begged _them_ not to let it happen. As Blaine had screamed and fought to the second his head slumped onto the pillow, his breathing evening out, both Burt and Kurt had felt like they were betraying him. Kurt in particular had been furious, shrieking at the poor nurse that what she had done was inhumane. Burt, aware that she had only done her job, had apologised for his son's conduct, though the nurse was thankfully cooperative and understanding. Burt had promised Blaine quietly that they would return in the morning, even though the kid couldn't hear him, before dragging Kurt forcibly from the room, Carole at his heels.

That night they had all cried themselves to sleep, Kurt especially. When they returned in the morning, Blaine had apologised desperately for his behaviour and didn't seem to be able to process their consoling assurances that they didn't blame him. Instead, he was just more self-deprecating than ever. Burt and Kurt's hearts broke just a little more when the nurse on duty informed them that Blaine had woken up screaming on and off throughout the night; the sedation had not been just a one-time thing.

The nightmares did not stop, and the cycle just ran on and on. Doctor Carlton had told them that the best healer for Blaine's physical injuries was sleep, but although that had fully treated his fever, the terrible flashbacks the boy experienced whilst unconscious actually made him fear sleep. Kurt would whisper for long hours gentle words of encouragement to coax the younger boy into a half-decent slumber, and although Blaine tried to obey, his mind didn't seem to let him. Even if he did sleep, he would wake up hours later, crying out.

Physically, Blaine was very weak. Just about the only thing the teenager could stomach was water and even then he could barely hold his head up enough to take tiny sips from a plastic cup. The journey the poor boy had undertaken, wherever he had travelled from, had been exhausting and had almost wiped him out entirely. As Doctor Carlton had not-so-helpfully reminded them, Blaine had been hypothermic upon arrival at the hospital, looming dangerously towards pneumonia; had Carole not found the boy when she did, the cold October climate and his current state could have claimed his life. Both Hummel men didn't even want to think about that prospect so they just glared at the doctor until he shut his damn mouth.

Once Burt was granted temporary guardianship of Blaine, at least until Jonathan Anderson's whereabouts were discovered, or Cooper was found, a dietician came to explain to Blaine about his condition. Blaine was still pretty out of it, so eventually, she had ended up explaining the logistics of it to Burt and Carole. Carole, as a qualified healthcare professional, knew most of what the dietician discussed already, so between the two of them, they planned a careful diet for Blaine to follow. Having a BMI well below what was defined as healthy, the dietician recommended a gradual intake of proteins and carbohydrates. Burt had to be the one to remind them that the kid could barely drink let alone eat, so they started him off with something easy – a few crackers and some toast. During that first meal, even with Kurt's gentle urging, Blaine only managed one cracker out of three, and the toast was left untouched. About an hour later he had ended up vomiting it back up, which caused yet more tears and distressed apologies from Blaine. Carole had tried to reassure him that he wasn't used to eating much and so gradually, with more routine eating, he would get his appetite back on track. From the look on the look on the boy's face, Burt and Kurt weren't sure Blaine believed her.

When Blaine wasn't sleeping, crying or frantically apologising, he lay there quietly, a deadened look filling his once so-expressive hazel eyes. Kurt missed the way they used to glow amber when the younger boy grew enthusiastic about an idea, or the way he would develop crowfeet at the corner of his eyes when he laughed. Kurt tried his hardest to bring just a little of that joy back to the kid; regaling stories of school and past times to detract from the terrible circumstances, but it was clear that Blaine had experienced too many horrors to just go back. Burt saw that the younger boy tried as best he could to at least smile for his best friend. Even now, at least when he was conscious enough of his actions to do so, Blaine tried to protect Kurt from the truth. It was to no avail, of course; they all knew that Blaine was suffering.

No matter how brilliant his son had been throughout the ordeal, Burt could see that Blaine's unhappiness was seeping into Kurt as well, the two still connected by that invisible tether. If one was miserable, so was the other, as had been the circumstances since they were little. He could see how tired his son was but despite his own encouragements to sleep, the boy only did so when he absolutely had to or in other words, when he was dragged from the hospital by force. He had also noticed how Kurt's phone kept buzzing, but the pressing messages and calls from his son's friends went unanswered. Burt wondered if he should press Kurt about it, especially when the boy turned his phone off altogether, but he didn't feel that it was his place. Thankfully, the weekend had stretched in so Kurt didn't have to miss much more school due to his time at the hospital, but as Sunday came to an end, Burt knew it was his responsibility as a parent to make sure Kurt went back soon.

On Monday, following a final check-up by Carole, again, overseen by Doctor Carlton, because Blaine became panic-stricken at the mere sight of the man, Blaine was given the all-clear to go home with the Hummels. Burt had made sure that all had been sorted with Blaine's room at the house, much to Finn's chagrin. The boy had made it perfectly clear that he was unhappy sharing his already new home with a complete stranger, but this was something Burt and Kurt were not prepared to back down from.

Doctor Andrew's, Carlton's superior, had even dropped by Blaine's room once to check on matters as he had been the one who first saw to the boy when he was brought into the hospital, and Burt vaguely remembered Carole mentioning him that first day, even though the majority of those hours he could barely recall now. Thankfully, Blaine had been sleeping when Andrews visited so they didn't have the same recurring problem that they did with Carlton. He just talked to Burt briefly about Blaine needing to visit either the hospital or the out-patient clinic for a few regular check-ups concerning any potential STDs that may be discovered later, or from the tests they had already taken. It was also made clear that two conditions of Blaine being allowed to go home with them were that, with Carole being a nurse at the hospital anyway, she was to take over his physical recovery. Her job entailed helping him with washing until his cast was off, making sure the healing fissure didn't open any more or become infected, ensuring he ate the right amounts and just general care. It was a big pressure on his fiancé, but Burt felt overwhelmed with gratitude when Carole instantly volunteered herself.

The other condition was that once Blaine was settled, he was to make and participate in regular appointments with Doctor Summers to begin his mental and emotional road to recovery. At present, from just the short period that Summers had seen Blaine, she had diagnosed him as suffering from a relatively acute form of post-traumatic stress disorder, also enduring a psychosomatic belief that everything bad that happened was his fault. However, given a safe, loving home environment and the correct amount of time and nurture, Summers was optimistic Blaine would be able to overcome the disorder.

It was a mark of just how miserable Kurt had been, that when Burt suggested the boy go out to the mall to do a little clothes shopping for Blaine, just to give him some time away from the hospital, he steadfastly refused, opting to visit Blaine instead. For the moment, Blaine could borrow some of Kurt's clothes. Burt wasn't quite sure if he could imagine Blaine dressed in designer attire, at least to the degree Kurt exhibited, but the clothes the younger boy had been found in had been so filthy and bloody, they had been thrown away. Besides, given Blaine's state, Burt decided that the kid probably wouldn't care anyway.

So that was how both Burt and Kurt found themselves on a grey Tuesday morning – visiting Blaine in the hospital, thankfully for the last time, Kurt clutching a small bag of his own, plainer clothes for Blaine to travel home in. Seeing through the small window fitted to the door that Blaine was already awake, Burt knocked once before he and Kurt entered.

* * *

Kurt had made a mental note to himself to be as cheerful as possible around Blaine that day, even if he didn't feel particularly happy himself. He was aware that it would be very awkward for all of them, having Blaine coming to stay. Kurt feared Blaine might withdraw even further inside himself if put in a strange environment. Was it a strange environment, though? Blaine had been inside the Hummel household since he was five years old; he knew every nook and cranny of the place, having participated in frequent sleepovers, and it wasn't as if they had redecorated much over the years. All that had changed was that the two spare rooms, one of which used to be Kurt's nursery as a baby, had been fully painted and converted into Finn's room (which was now unrecognisable and vastly smellier), and the spare had been transformed into Blaine's new room.

Then again, Kurt was adjusting to being around Blaine again, and of course, Blaine was doing the same with all of them. Kurt just had to remind himself that it would be so much harder for Blaine than it was for him. Of course, he was glad to have his best friend back again; it was what he had wished for constantly for six years. However, Kurt had to admit to himself, because he would never voice his worries aloud, that in those six years Blaine had changed quite a lot. That wasn't to say Kurt didn't care about him, because he did, so much. After all, Blaine's gentleness and his care towards others were still blatantly present, even with the younger boy so broken. But Blaine just wasn't that bouncy, energetic, enthusiastic little kid anymore; the one who protected him without fail in the school yard. He was timid, subdued and terrified and… Kurt just wasn't sure how to handle it. It was like treading on eggshells; the slightest thing might upset Blaine and Kurt didn't want that at all.

So Kurt just plastered a smile over his face and prepared himself for the worst. However, as he stepped inside the room and took in the sight before him, he felt the corners of his mouth tug into a genuine smile. Blaine was no longer hooked up to any strange machines or that annoying saline drip and the feeding tube through his nose had been entirely removed. In fact, other than the fact that his skin retained a sickly pallor, he was unhealthily thin and that his arm was still wrapped in its solid cast, Kurt might actually have been able to believe Blaine was simply in his own bed.

The boy was curled up on his right side, mindful of his broken left arm, and probably avoiding the healing fissure which still made its presence known whenever he sat up, or put too much pressure on his backside. He had been staring into space, his eyes still blank and haunted, but thankfully tearless. He glanced up as they walked in.

"Hey, you!" Kurt greeted with as much cheer as he could muster, though thankfully, the image of Blaine being a little better added some oomph to the sentence.

Blaine gave a half-smile and slowly uncurled himself under the blankets, wincing as he measured his weight onto his bottom and then tried to haul himself into a sitting position. Kurt's instinct was to rush forward and help him, but he had been advised by his dad earlier not to smother Blaine too much. Summers had mentioned that whilst it was important for Blaine to realise he had love and support, he had to be allowed to feel as though he could retain some forms of dignity and independence, especially after the humiliating circumstances of the rape. So Kurt just watched, slowly approaching the bedside and occupying one of the chairs until his friend had finished.

"Hi, Kurt." Blaine replied softly, panting quietly against the pillows, tired just from the effort of sitting up. He hadn't been eating again, Kurt worried, otherwise Blaine would have more energy.

Still, he was glad that the younger boy seemed a little calmer than he had that first night they had tried to go home. Gradually, over the last few days, they had attempted to alleviate Blaine's fears of them abandoning him. The panic attacks had decreased and Kurt was happy that Blaine finally seemed to have figured out that they weren't going to leave him, or send him back to Jonathan. As if they would!

"Today's the day, kiddo!" Burt said, also in a cheery voice, plonking himself down next to Kurt. "Time to bust out of his joint and come home with us."

Kurt saw the anxiety and doubt in Blaine's eyes; the hesitance to intrude upon their lives rolled off Blaine's reticent form in massive, one hundred-foot waves.

"Don't even say it, Blaine." Kurt warned him, with more resolve in his voice than he felt considering he had barely slept the night before. "You're not a burden okay? We just want you to come home." He looked at the younger boy steadily, a small smile playing on his face. "_I_ just want my best friend to come home."

Blaine looked so small and vulnerable as he glanced between the two Hummel men, as if trying to figure out if they were lying, or just being kind for the sake of it. Kurt wondered desperately when Blaine was going to realise that they actually really cared about him. Eventually, he just dropped his eyes to the mattress and nodded.

"Okay." The younger boy whispered his acquiescence.

Burt rubbed his hands together dramatically, "Okay, then. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

He turned to Kurt who immediately got the message and bent down to pick up the plastic bag he had carted in with him. He untied it and began removing its contents. They weren't the most designer clothes he owned – just an old beige sweater and sweatpants. However, Burt had insisted on Blaine wearing the plainest clothes possible, especially since he was most likely going to be sick down them later on as he was still unable to keep food down. In terms of plain clothes, Finn was the most likely source to go to, but the jock had been a complete douche recently, refusing to give up some of his old clothes to a kid he didn't even know; a kid who was apparently 'taking over their lives'. Even though Finn's clothes would be massively too big for Blaine, as would his dad's, Kurt wasn't best pleased with his almost-stepbrother at the moment. He finished up by digging out a pair of boxers which he had never worn, some socks and a pair of old converses he had worn once for a glee club assignment.

"The clothes you arrived here in had to be thrown away, bud." His dad said to Blaine as gently as possible, as if fearing the news would upset him, but the boy didn't really react to this information; he just stared vacantly at Burt and then at the pile of clothes in Kurt's lap. "So Kurt's brought you some of his old stuff."

"I'm ashamed to say that these aren't very fashionable at all-" Kurt said in a falsely despairing voice, waving the clothes in the air, hoping it would draw a smile from Blaine. Even though they never got to attend middle school together, the place where Kurt really started adhering to the latest fashion trends, becoming an avid reader of Vogue, Blaine had of course always been aware of Kurt's obsession with clothes. He had constantly praised and enthused over Kurt's designs in his little notebooks when they were younger.

"-My doing." His dad interjected, raising a hand, as if admitting guiltily to something serious, though his eyes twinkled slightly as he added in a loud aside to Blaine. "Count yourself lucky, bud. You should have seen some of the things he was going to have you wear-"

"Hey!" Kurt bantered back with false indignation.

"-All this fancy Alice McGreen stuff-" Burt continued, gesturing to the McQueen scarf that Kurt was currently wearing, apparently enjoying his son's outrage.

"_Alexander McQueen_, dad." Kurt huffed exasperatedly.

He felt his heart lift when Blaine gave a small, fleeting smile as he watched the two Hummel men engage in a dose of good-natured banter. But sadly, it was gone within a matter of seconds.

"Th-They're great… thank you, Kurt." The younger boy whispered timidly, his eyes meeting Kurt's briefly to illustrate his sincerity, before his gaze dropped back down to the mattress.

Kurt didn't know why he felt so happy about Blaine's small input but his smile noticeably widened.

"They'll do for now, I suppose." He relented warmly. "But we _have_ to go shopping soon to find you some _real_ outfits."

To Kurt's horror, Blaine's face fell completely, his eyes quickly becoming panicked and frightened again.

"I… I c-couldn't repay you." He stuttered in a small, tight voice, barely above a whisper. His eyes were fixed on the bedclothes, as if fearing the older boy's reaction. "I… I can't… I h-haven't-"

Kurt could sense Blaine beginning to get upset again, and glanced desperately at his dad for help. He wanted to cry himself as he realised his mess-up. The very last thing he wanted to do was upset Blaine again, especially with him doing so well today. So he was very thankful when his dad interrupted soothingly:

"You don't need to repay anything, bud. Remember me telling you that when you first arrived here?"

"B-But-" Blaine tried to justify, his breathing accelerating as he began to panic.

"But nothing." Burt said firmly, in a tone that quite clearly forbade any arguments yet was gentle and reassuring. He nodded towards the clothes still piled high in Kurt's lap. "Come on, bud. Let's just get you home for now, eh?"

Blaine still looked doubtful and as downcast as ever, but he nodded silently. Kurt was prepared to bet the younger boy was only agreeing so that he didn't anger Burt. Kurt really wanted to drop the subject, so he didn't have the heart to convince Blaine otherwise. He could only hope that in time Blaine would learn that unlike his father, they wouldn't fly off the handle at him for the tiniest things.

Kurt reached forwards slowly, so as not to startle the other boy, and gently placed the items on the bed next to Blaine. He waited patiently with his dad for Blaine to say something or make any more towards getting dressed but he just continued to sit there, staring blankly at the pile.

Kurt tried to imagine what Blaine was thinking about right now. He had to admit that if he was the one in this situation, he would perhaps feel like a charity case – being given someone's old clothes and being taken in by a friend who hadn't seen him in six years. And then Kurt realised that after living on the streets for who knew how long, and even living with Jonathan Anderson, Blaine probably hadn't seen much kindness or a great deal of charity, so maybe the younger boy was just processing things.

All was silent for a few minutes. Kurt was glad his dad didn't push Blaine. They didn't after all, have any particular timescale in which to get Blaine and take him home. They could take things as easy and gradually as Blaine needed to.

It took a little while but slowly, ever so slowly, Blaine's hand edged along the mattress until his fingers were tentatively trailing along the hem of the jumper. This happened for a good few seconds, Blaine just tracing the material, almost reverently, as if generosity and compassion were behaviours he was unused to. Then, Kurt's heart almost broke and swelled all at the same time when the boy repeated in a whisper:

"Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt smiled genially, "You can keep them." He told the other boy tenderly, not knowing if he was pushing his luck.

Blaine looked a little panicky again. He opened his mouth and Kurt just knew he was going to refuse so he continued hastily:

"Really, Blaine. They're all too small for me now, anyway." In an attempt to be light-hearted, he added in an undertone: "My growth spurts just keep coming, you see."

It was true. Kurt had grown a lot since they last knew each other, as had Blaine. However, Kurt was quite clearly the taller of the two; he always had been, but he was prepared to bet that Blaine's malnourishment hadn't helped him grow at all. He was certainly small for his age.

Blaine was silent for a while longer before he hesitantly offered another brief smile and whisper of gratitude. Kurt decided that was as close to an affirmation of acceptance as he was going to get so he just smiled back and nodded.

The boy in the bed slowly lifted the first item from the pile into his lap: the boxers. He glanced towards them and then around the room, looking a little lost. Suddenly, both Kurt and Burt seemed to realise the potentially problematic situation here. Blaine had to get changed and he probably didn't want them here. He had already suffered enough humiliation from the rapist and from the frequent examinations of his lower body.

Kurt watched as his dad hovered uncertainly before rising from his seat.

"Shall I get a nurse to come and help you get changed, bud?" he offered, eyes roaming over the cast on Blaine's arm and the sluggish, painful way in which the boy moved, still clearly troubled by the fissure and other cuts and bruises.

Blaine's eyes widened and he shook his head wildly. Apparently he didn't want strange nurses helping him with such a personal, yet everyday task. Kurt didn't blame him. He also doubted Blaine wanted Doctor Carlton's help, so he was very glad his dad didn't even bother suggesting it. Kurt suddenly wished Carole had come with them today, but unfortunately, she had to go back to work today and she was scheduled to an entirely different area of the hospital. Blaine at least seemed to have grown moderately comfortable in Carole's presence, perhaps because she had been the one to see his injuries whilst he was at his most vulnerable, but unfortunately she wasn't an option today.

"You think you can do it yourself?" Burt asked Blaine softly, though he still looked a little apprehensive.

Blaine nodded slowly in response.

Sensing that they weren't going to get a verbal response out of Blaine for the moment, Kurt heard his dad ask in preparation for another nod or shake answer.

"Do you want us to wait outside? Give you a little privacy."

Blaine looked almost pained at the thought, but he didn't give an immediate response. He just sat there anxiously.

"You want us to help you?" Burt questioned patiently.

Again, Blaine just sat there, looking scared to actually articulate his own opinion. Kurt didn't know how he understood, but he did.

"How about we just turn away?" he suggested gently. "That way, if you need help… well… we can help you."

He felt a rush of gladness when Blaine responded this time with a small, but clear nod.

So both Hummel men turned, somewhat awkwardly, to face the wall, giving Blaine his own privacy and independence. For a minute or so, they heard nothing. The boy did not seem to make any movements at all and it took all of Kurt's restraint not to look around curiously, but he guessed what Blaine was doing. He suspected that the teenager was either giving himself a minute to work up to the strenuous task of moving, whilst his limps were still stiff and underused after residing in a hospital bed for the last few days, or he was afraid of them turning around after all. Blaine clearly had a lot of trust issues after all he had been through and Kurt felt unbelievably sad at the thought of Blaine not trusting him. They had always trusted each other implicitly. Again, he was reminded just how long a time period six years was.

However, a while later, the sound of rustling sheets became audible, as if Blaine was easing himself towards the edge of the mattress. Kurt winced as he heard a sequence of small whimpers being elicited from his best friend's efforts, and he was sure he saw his dad have a similar reaction beside him. He didn't know how long they waited but Kurt was sure it was bordering on half an hour or so, all the while listening to Blaine's heart-wrenching hisses and whimpers of pain. By the time Kurt heard a very strangled, yet distinguishable sob, as if Blaine was actually attempting to conceal his struggles from them, Kurt had had enough.

"Blaine, are you okay?" he asked softly.

The sound of frantic rustling stopped altogether, replaced by quiet sniffs.

"Blaine?" His dad prompted in a tone worried. "You okay, buddy?"

No reply sounded from Blaine's direction, so Kurt took it as his cue to turn around again, his dad immediately following. And then his heart really broke.

Blaine was sitting, crumpled and broken at the edge of the bed, tears running silently down his cheeks as he cried as quietly as he could manage. He had successfully slipped on the boxers and sweatpants, and had managed to remove his good arm from the frustrating, flimsy hospital gown sleeve, however the thin cloth had twisted as he couldn't really move his left arm, so he was stuck. Kurt blinked back his own tears, determined to stay strong for his friend who just looked so devastatingly helpless in that moment, and walked back towards him.

"Oh, sweetie." He murmured.

Blaine must have realised that he been found out now because he suddenly released a loud sob, as if he had been holding it in for all that length of time. Kurt sat down opposite him and reached up to tenderly wipe away any excess tears with the pad of his thumb.

"It's okay." He whispered comfortingly, when the other boy looked down, an expression of shame and mortification darkening his features, not unlike the first time he had been sick that second afternoon.

Burt placed a gentle hand on Blaine's shoulder, an action which Kurt was pleased Blaine didn't flinch away from. "It's okay to ask for help, bud. That's why we're still in the room, remember?"

Blaine didn't respond immediately but a few seconds later he choked out another sob, whispering to himself in a berating tone, "U-Useless."

"What?" Kurt crooned softly, claiming Blaine's good hand, just as he had done all week when the boy was upset.

Blaine couldn't seem to bear to look up, so he just mumbled ashamedly to the floor, "I-I'm… u-useless."

"No you're not." Kurt argued firmly. "You're not, Blaine."

"I am." Blaine sniffed back, his gaze still resolutely on the floor. "He always s-says I'm u-useless. H-He's right. He's always b-b-been right."

Neither Hummel even needed to ask who 'he' was. Jonathan _bloody_ Anderson. Of course it was.

"No, Blaine." Burt contended strongly. "He's wrong. You're _not _useless."

Blaine shook his head slowly in disbelief, deaf to their arguments. He had stopped crying – thankfully, these tears had only been momentary, induced by frustration and a feeling of complete hopelessness – but the horrible, deadened, blank expression had returned. Kurt was beginning to think he preferred the constant waves of emotion.

"I can't even dress myself." Blaine whispered by way of justification.

"You've been hurt. Badly." Kurt watched as his dad gently tried to reason with the shattered boy. "Your arm's broken, you're exhausted, your whole body's hurting… and so for a while, you're going to need some help to do things. But that _won't_ last forever." Burt promised, and Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand to emphasise the fact. "But until you're better, buddy, you're going to need that help. And it's _okay_ to ask for it, you know. We're not going to get mad at you for that."

They had been reiterating to the younger boy all week that they weren't going to lose their temper with him for tiny things, but Blaine still didn't seem to have grasped that. It was going to be a long road with a lot of repetitive phrases. He saw a double meaning in his dad's words about Blaine getting better. Physically, his injuries were temporary and would heal quickly given the right treatment, but emotionally… Kurt had a horrible feeling it was going to take Blaine a long, long time to recover mentally from… everything.

"And needing help doesn't make you useless, Blaine." Kurt added, his dad nodding along with him.

"Exactly." Burt agreed.

Blaine did not say anything this time. He was silent. Kurt hoped he was at least absorbing their words.

"Let me help you get this awful thing off, eh?" Burt asked eventually, indicating the flimsy gown.

Blaine raised his head slowly, eyes meeting Kurt's, as if searching for some help or reassurance. Kurt smiled encouragingly, nodding his head and realising all at once that actually, Blaine seemed to trust him after all. His reaction seemed to be enough for the younger boy, because seconds later, albeit hesitantly, Blaine nodded his consent.

Burt frowned slightly, as if trying to figure out the best way in which to go about such a task. Finally he suggested that Blaine turn around to at least give him some form of privacy and he would slip the article off from the back.

For a few moments, Kurt thought he saw yet more panic fire up in Blaine's blank expression, yet he relented after a couple of beats. Obeying Burt's instructions, he turned around agonisingly slowly, releasing Kurt's hand as he did so. Kurt observed as his dad worked carefully with the cheap, twisted fabric, inching it up Blaine's body bit by bit. Each time he did, Kurt saw that Blaine tensed up a little more, and even though he couldn't see his friend's face, he was sure he was wincing. Finally, Burt managed to slip the whole gown up and over Blaine's head, finishing with easing the broken arm out of the remaining sleeve.

It was then that the entirety of Blaine's back was revealed. Kurt couldn't stop himself from gasping.

Aside from the obvious fact that Blaine was so thin, he could see the boy's bones, a large proportion of Blaine's back was layered with bruises and scars of different sizes and depths; some thick and deep, others barely scratching the surface of the skin, but all of them pink and painful-looking. There was one particular jagged cut that looked about a year old, ranging from the right side of the back, expanding past his ribs and onto Blaine's front, which was hidden from view. Kurt didn't know what the story was behind that one, but he had seen scars quite similar the others before, in the bathrooms back at elementary school, when Blaine had first admitted to his father beating him with a belt. But these… these were more than just a few hits to reprimand a person, not that that was okay either. These were brutal – savage even, and made for one purpose: to cause absolute pain.

Kurt clapped a hand to his mouth to stop himself from sobbing out his anguish. He realised that Carole must have seen this when examining the tear, but she hadn't said anything. She was probably respecting Blaine's already depleting dignity. He wished she had told them though because at least a heads-up could have prepared him for such a sight. Kurt glanced up at his dad to see a look of pure, unadulterated rage. The gown had been placed on the bed and both Hummel men were now staring in utter horror at the damage before them. Kurt didn't know much about the recovery time of scars, but he was almost certain that many of them would never heal. The traumatized boy would have to carry some of these wounds for the rest of his life.

Blaine did not turn around. Even when facing the opposite way, his head seemed to be bowed towards the floor, like knew what they had discovered and thought it was _he _who should to be ashamed; as if he had resigned himself to that fate when he let them help him. Kurt wished he could do something, say _anything_ to let Blaine know that this wasn't his fault; that he didn't deserve any of this, but he knew that if he spoke, he would start crying. And that would just set Blaine off again.

"It's alright, buddy." Burt growled fiercely, though they all knew his anger was not directed at Blaine but at that the monster who had done this. He picked up the beige jumper and began pulling it gently over the boy's head. "He's not going to hurt you again. No one's _ever _going to hurt you again."

Kurt found himself biting his lip to prevent more threatening tears upon hearing the fierce protectiveness in his dad's voice. He didn't think he had ever been so thankful to have Burt Hummel as his father. He had been the lucky one. He been blessed with the good father; the wonderful dad who loved and cared about him unconditionally; who let him naively grow up aware of, but away from danger. He and Blaine had been so similar when they were younger, having the same interests, hopes and dreams, and yet… their worlds had been so vastly apart.

His dad finally succeeded in securing Blaine inside the jumper, leaving the left sleeve up to avoid coming into contact with the arm cast. He watched silently as his dad coaxed Blaine into sitting back down on the bed before slipping on the socks and converses. The younger boy followed every instruction without question, his face emotionless and looking anywhere but at Kurt.

"There we go." Burt stated, tying a concluding bow across the last shoe. "All done."

Kurt tried not to think about the fact that the last time he had seen his dad tying someone's shoelaces was when his mom was dying and couldn't do anything for herself. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Blaine wasn't going to die. He was hurt but he wasn't dying.

Burt clambered up from his crouching position, stretching his obviously aching back before surveying the smaller boy. Blaine didn't look back, his gaze still on his fastened shoes.

"How are you for walking?" he asked the kid with a sigh. "You up to it?"

Not much in Blaine's expression changed, but Kurt thought he sensed a slight spark of determination in the boy's eyes as he nodded.

"Okay, then." Burt replied, though with a little trepidation. Blaine seemed to be pushing himself too hard to do things he wasn't physically able to do just yet.

They watched as Blaine got to his feet, flinching as his backside came into contact with the mattress. Kurt wanted to reach out to steady him, but he also didn't want to crowd his friend so he kept within an arms distance, ready to catch him if he fell. It turned out that this was rightfully needed because following a few tentative baby steps on visibly shaky legs that hadn't been used in less than a week, Blaine's knees buckled and Kurt was the first to reach him.

Kurt knew he wasn't very strong but it was sheer adrenaline and willpower that managed to keep Blaine upright against him before the boy fell, an arm wrapped firmly around his friend's waist until he could manoeuvre him back to the bed. Blaine sat back down with a slump and an expression of devastation written across his face. Kurt dreaded to think what the setback had done to his already fragile morale.

"It's okay." Kurt murmured, rubbing Blaine's forearm soothingly when he felt his friend inhale and exhale several fast, shaky breaths, as if he was trying not to cry again. "It's okay."

"Your muscles just need practice again." Burt explained kindly. "You walked for so long and then to do virtually no exercise for days, with all these meds flowing through you… your body just wants time to catch up. It'll help when you've got food down you as well."

Blaine didn't respond this time. He just retreated into himself, staring impassively at the floor.

Kurt glanced concernedly at his father who just sighed and jerked his head towards the door, "I'll be back in minute."

Sure enough, Burt retreated from the room for a while, leaving a strained silence between the two boys. Kurt tried looking at Blaine in the eye to offer some bland reassurance but his friend, again, seemed too immersed in the floor.

He suddenly became aware that he was still rubbing Blaine's forearm, even though the boy seemed to have calmed slightly, or at least, to outward appearances. Needing to offer at least some small comfort, he stopped rubbing, reaching for Blaine's hand instead and squeezing it gently. Kurt was pleasantly surprised when the younger boy did not pull away as he had expected; even more so when Blaine actually squeezed back. The gesture was shy and a little uncertain, but Kurt would take what communication he could get right now. At least he wasn't shutting him out. He wondered if Blaine knew that in responding, the younger boy had actually made Kurt feel a little better.

About a minute later, his dad returned with a hospital wheelchair.

"Your carriage awaits, my good sir." Burt said jokingly, looking at Blaine expectantly.

Kurt squeezed his friend's hand once more, just to make sure he wouldn't get worked up again. The action had the desired effect and a few minutes later, Blaine was settled into the wheelchair, with only a few winces of pain along the way.

They wheeled him out towards the reception, Burt at the head, so that he could fill out the necessary paperwork to sign Blaine out and receive the correct medication. A nurse subordinate to Doctor Carlton was thankfully on the desk and was extremely efficient in indicating to Burt what to do, and what needed signing along which line. Doctor Carlton himself appeared briefly to hand off the prescription, a tube of ointment for Blaine's tear and to annoyingly reiterate what the nurse had already told them. Kurt was a little surprised that Blaine did not flinch away from Carlton as he had throughout his stay and was just in the process of thinking that maybe things were getting better after all, when he realised that Blaine hadn't actually noticed the doctor. He was instead staring at something further up the corridor with an expression he couldn't quite work out. It was as if an array of different emotions were playing in the younger boy's head and he couldn't quite focus in on one of them.

Kurt followed Blaine's line of vision. Standing in the middle of the corridor were a young couple, perhaps in their late twenties, each occupying a child. The man was carefully clutching the hand of a little boy, a toddler who couldn't be more than three or four years old, presumably to prevent him from running off. This wasn't necessary however, because both males seemed completely enraptured by what the mother was cradling: a tiny baby – most probably a new-born – dressed in a typical, but nevertheless cute, pink jumpsuit and bobbly hat; smothered in a blanket. The toddler was clamouring to reach up to see the baby, hence the father lifted him up onto his shoulders so that the boy could cautiously prod at the little bundle. Giggling softly, the mother planted a wet kiss on the little boy's cheek and then she and the father shared a tender moment as well. Just as a tiny hand was emerging from the bundle, which of course had the family cooing in delight, Kurt heard his dad's voice from somewhere next to him.

"Ready to go?" the mechanic asked both boys, tucking folded paperwork into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Kurt smiled slightly at the adorable couple before nodding. When he looked down at Blaine, the boy's eyes were still firmly fixed on the family, and Kurt thought he sensed something akin to longing in them. The contrast of it all was awful now that Kurt considered it. This couple, obviously fresh from the maternity ward, were bringing home a new life; it was a perfectly happy occasion and probably one of the best days of their lives… and Blaine was going through hell. No wonder Blaine seemed to be longing for that love; that intimacy and care from a family. He had never had that. He placed a gentle hand on his friends arm, effectively startling Blaine out of his thoughts.

"Ready to go, sweetie?" Kurt asked him quietly.

Blaine took one last look at the happy family before nodding silently. As the three of them made their way down the corridor, towards the lift, Kurt saw that Blaine kept his eyes on the family for as long as they were in sight.

**So I hope that wasn't disappointing. I promise there's a method to my madness and some of the stuff in this chapter is essential to revelations later on. Next up: Blaine's finally home and trying to get used to things, Finn's reaction to Blaine (three guesses how that'll turn out), and Kurt finally contacts his friends after pretty much ignoring them to be with Blaine. Then there'll probably be another chapter and then maybe another short time jump to keep things moving. I'll try and update asap. Please review :) **


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